Three months had passed and the letters stopped coming. To some people, there was no getting used to it.

Varric was at his desk bored out of his mind with financial papers. This was the kind of thing he avoided. Between the Merchants Guild, the buyers, the band, the Bone Pit and Fenris, he missed Hawke more and more every day. She had asked him in the letter to look after Merrill and Fenris especially, but the higher-maintenance one turned out to be no one's guess.

The first problem was that with Hawke and Carver gone, they had no tank. Aveline was the best, but she was hard to get. Fenris became the second option. Although his phasing tricks worked in his favour, on the whole, he was a shit tank. But that didn't stop him. No, sir. He was taking every job he could get.

That fed into the second problem. That they always needed a mage, and of course, with Fenris in a permanent position, there was a lot of swearing involved.

Which tied into the third problem. That he had to look out for too many people. People who should not be in the same room together. He had Anders who regularly caused trouble, Merrill who regularly and absent-mindedly broke into official buildings, and Fenris who regularly breathed down his neck because he had no purpose, or hobby or life of his own.

Afternoon, The Hanged Man

Fenris came back with Anders and Merrill, having finished a job. He had been grinding his teeth so much these past few months he needed new ones.

"Did it go alright, Kitten?" Isabela asked from the bar.

"Uh-huh," Merrill said passive aggressively, going at their usual table. Anders joined her.

"Are you being nice?" Isabela asked Fenris.

"That's not in my job description," he said. He squinted at her. "You're not wearing a bra. You were wearing one this morning."

Isabela leaned on the bar. "I was wondering if you wanted to have a pint."

"A stout, please. I'll be upstairs," he said flatly and left.

Isabela looked down and let out a loud sigh. She went and sat down with Merrill and Anders.

"So, what did he do now?" Isabela said tiredly.

"Let's see," Anders said, counting on his fingers. "He told Mistress Selby that she was unleashing a new Blight by helping mages."

"Andraste's tits!" Isabela guffawed and tried to control herself.

"He told me that I was going to possess half of Kirkwall in my pursuit of freedom for the mages," Anders said.

"He's giving you ideas even!" Isabela said, face-planting the table.

"And he told me my ball of twine was stupid," Merrill said, crossing her arms.

"What a monster," Isabela said, becoming serious. "Your ball isn't stupid. It helps you find your way."

"Someone please give him a ball of twine," Anders said, his arms drooping along the table.

"He was so much tamer when Hawke was around," Isabela said.

Merrill shook her head, eyes dead. "I miss her so much."

"Me too," Anders grumbled, covering his face.

"What the hell, me three," Isabela said frustratedly.

"You're not too fond of her?" Anders asked perceptively.

"Eh," Isabela said, shaking her head innocently. "It's a whole lot of social justice and moral posturing, isn't it? I'm not a fan."

"I like her social justice, but I'm not all that crazy about the morality," Merrill said, thinking. "It's more relative than that, isn't it?"

"If by relative you mean 'okay to make deals with demons', then I'm going to disagree," Anders said, squinting.

"Oh, Maker, and here she is!" Isabela said, slouching in her seat. "Debate hour hath begun."

"No, no, let's just trash Fenris instead," Anders offered.

They all agreed this was an excellent idea.

"Stop sending me off with those two idiots," Fenris told Varric.

"You wanted more work, I'm giving you more work," the dwarf said tiredly.

"At this point I'd rather swallow a pregnant porcupine and crap out a litter of porcupettes."

"That's… an interesting image."

Fenris threw himself on his couch. Varric looked around for help, support, guidance or escape, but there was none.

"Elf, do you… do anything else?" he said, looking back at him.

"Do what?"

"You know… have a life? A real one."

Fenris thought about it. "No," he said flatly.

"You should get one," Varric said quickly.

The elf laughed arrogantly. "Alright, and what do people do in their 'real lives'?"

"Have friends? Girlfriends?" Varric said, turning around. Fenris had high, bored eyebrows. "Boyfriends?"

"None of the above," he said, unperturbed.

"Is that by choice?" the dwarf pressed.

"I am perfectly content."

"Mhm. Mhm."

This guy had a whole regiment of rats in his attic.

"Maybe you should get laid," Varric offered.

"I'm not interested in sexual entanglements," Fenris said nonchalantly.

"You're so weird," Varric complained, turning back to his papers.

Fenris sat up in the couch. "Oh, so I don't care for transient and superficial pleasures and I'm weird, but you can be in a relationship with a crossbow, and you're normal?"

"Touché," Varric said shyly, absent-mindedly signing his name as Touché Thetras on the contract.

Perhaps they had more in common than he thought. Even if it was for different reasons.

"So, what are you doing?" Fenris said, looming over his head.

"I'm actually quite busy," Varric said, trying to remain nice.

"Can I help?"

He had a problem.

"You know, I don't have time to visit the Bone Pit later today. Maybe you can go by yourself?"

"Very well."

Thank you, Maker, Varric thought, holding his hands out to the sky.

He managed to get rid of him for an afternoon. An afternoon, and Hubert was already at his throat.

"What were you thinking, sending this scarecrow?" the Orlesian said in outrage.

"What did he do?" Varric said, sighing.

"He made two people go off sick and he made Robert cry!"

Varric scratched his eyebrow with the wrong end of the quill. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

This had to stop.

A few days later, Varric and Fenris were having a nice pint. A gothic-looking elven woman joined them.

"He-hey, Lila," Varric said amicably. "How's the shop going?"

"Still in business," Lila said, sitting next to Fenris. Varric had tactically put himself in the corner. "Who's your friend?"

"That's Fenris. He's a massive fan of… black shit," Varric drawled. He coughed. "Fenris, this is Lila. She works at Ravens & Raincoats."

He shook her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"No, the pleasure is all mine," Lila said, smiling.

Varric watched the elf, whose jaw became clenched.

"Switch seats with me," Fenris told him.

Another few days later, Varric lured Fenris into a pint. A quiet dark-haired elven man joined them.

"Hey, man, I thought you were dead!" Varric said enthusiastically.

"You wish," the elf said.

"This is my friend, Fenris. Fenris, this is my buddy, Mort. He's a smithy apprentice at Ralnor's Blades."

"Nice to meet you," he said, shaking his hand.

Mort nodded and remained quiet.

Varric coughed. "So, uhm, Mort… what's the best metal?"

"What are you trying to do, start a war?" Fenris said.

"Silverite," Mort said.

"No, no, stormheart is by far the best," Fenris said, raising a finger.

Varric stood up, smiling, and let them argue.

Not nearly enough time later, Fenris was in his office again.

"I'm not gay," he said with a death glare.

"Who said you were?" the dwarf said innocently.

"That guy," Fenris said curtly. "He thought we were on a date."

"Maybe you were too charming," Varric said, trying to keep a straight face.

"Are you trying to set me up with someone?" Fenris said crossly. What part of 'I'm not interested in entanglements' did this dwarf not understand?

"Whoa, whoa, where'd that come from?" Varric said defensively.

"I won't repeat myself," Fenris threatened.

Varric laughed and went back to his papers. "Please. I'm too busy to meddle in my friends' love lives… or lack thereof."

Another week had passed. Another beardless dwarf joined Fenris and Varric.

"He-hey, Darmian," Varric said amicably. "How's the business going?"

"It'd go better if I had more to sell," he said grumpily. "Who's your friend?"

"That's Fenris, my work associate. Fenris, this is Darmian, my… other work associate."

"I'M NOT GAY!" Fenris screamed in frustration. All eyes were violently and owlishly doubled upon him.

"Dude, this is just my printer."

"Oh."

Isabela almost pissed herself from laughter.

Yet another week passed. Fenris and Varric were having a drink after work. Athenril joined them.

"He-hey, how's the criminal underground doing?" Varric said amicably.

"Not this again," Fenris said, face-palming.

"I'm surrounded by idiots," Athenril said, shrugging and taking a seat. "Same as usual."

"I know how you feel," Fenris grumbled.

"This is my friend, Fenris. Fenris, this is Athenril, Hawke's former boss."

The elf's eyes suddenly filled with life. "You worked with Hawke?"

"Yeah. She was the best," Athenril said. "Where's she these days?"

"Busy, busy," Varric said evasively. "Not as busy as my friend here. Everyone wants a piece of this guy."

"Oh?" Athenril said. "You fight?"

"I'm the best," Fenris said arrogantly.

Later that evening, Athenril came by his office.

"What were you thinking there, Dwarfy?" she said, leaning on his door with crossed arms.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Madam," Varric lied.

"You tried to set me up with that lunatic," Athenril insisted.

Maybe he shouldn't have left. The elf did strike him as a little creepy.

"What did he do?" Varric said tiredly.

"He spent the entire evening talking about Hawke and now he wants to see me again," Athenril said grouchily.

"Interesting," Varric said, blinking.

He was zeroing in on his problem. Maybe they had the same reason for avoiding 'entanglements'.

Sunset, Fenris's Mansion

Fenris came back from a tiring day of arguing with mages and avoiding the pirate. He went into his room. There was a chair.

The chair spun, loudly and rustily, and there Varric was, intertwining his fingers.

"I know," he said.

"What in the Void is this?" Fenris said in outrage.

Varric chuckled vainly. "You think you're so smart. You think your brain's all big and sparkly with your little debates and history lessons and existentialist cafés," he said, spinning around. The chair kept creaking.

Fenris watched him silently.

"But you're just as simple and transparent as the next guy," Varric said, crossing his legs.

"Okay?" Fenris said, raising an eyebrow.

"See, I thought all this time, you were just one of those loner guys that were too busy building miniature worlds with little tongs to go on dates." He gestured around the room. "But you don't even have a hobby. You just have a work addiction."

Fenris laughed derisively. "Sure. 'Too good at his job'. Put that in my next appraisal."

"Well, you know what they say—addiction just fills a hole, and sooner or later, shit will hit the windmill." Specifically, Varric's windmill.

"Wonderful wordsmanship. Is that off the dust cover of your next book?"

"Yeah. I'm working on a new series. It's called The Lovesick Tevinter."

Fenris blinked tiredly. "What?"

"You, serah, are hung up on someone," Varric said, standing up from his chair. "Someone we both know, don't we?" He squinted at him offensively.

"Are you on drugs?" Fenris said with half-lidded eyes.

"Oh, no, don't project that shit on me, kid," Varric said. "I was going through this lovelorn bullshit while you were still in your daddy's testicles!"

"Leave my father out of this, and his testicles!" Fenris said angrily.

"No, no, it all makes sense now," Varric said. "All those little kindergarten spats with Hawke, indulging her workaholism before the expedition, doting on her in the Deep Roads—"

"That was a promise I made to Aveline," Fenris said, crossing his arms.

"Well, aren't you loyal Prince Charming?" Varric said sarcastically.

"I was doing my job," Fenris said.

"How come you're so shit at it now, huh?"

"Because you put me in the tank position!"

"And why did I put you in a tank position…?"

"Because—" Fenris stopped himself, squinting and pointing at him. "I know what you're doing, and it won't work."

"I don't need to do anything, serah," Varric said, chuckling. "I know you miss Hawke. That's why you're so fucking needy and just a gigantic pain in my ass!"

"I shall endeavour to exist with less offense," Fenris said passive-aggressively.

"Admit it!" Varric said. "You're just sad your crush is gone."

"And you're not?" Fenris said, crossing his arms.

"Please, humans don't do anything for me," Varric said.

"But you are sad she's gone," Fenris said. "Why else would you be glued to all those papers, avoiding any action?"

"Alright, this isn't about me," Varric said defensively, raising his palms.

"Maybe it should be," Fenris fired back. "You're letting us down, boss."

Varric chuckled nervously. "I'm not hearing anyone else complaining!"

"You're welcome," Fenris said curtly.

"Huh?"

"Who do you think has to deal with these people while you refuse to join us on foot? I've been listening to everyone's bitching and moaning and complaining. Reassuring them it's all fine and temporary. Me, Varric. Do you know how hard that is for me?"

"Oh," the dwarf said, looking uncomfortable. "I didn't know that."

"Did you even notice Isabela is coming up with all the excuses in the world to avoid working with us?" Fenris said. "Isabela, Varric. The girl who won't leave me alone."

"That… is strange, yes."

"You're also slipping with the miners. I can't do it alone. I had to relieve several people because that idiot human has them doing overtime and they're getting sick and infecting the others."

"Oh," Varric said. "But what about the guy you made cry?"

"He was an idiot and a racist," Fenris said unapologetically. "And a misogynist."

"Boy, you sure are keeping your crush's spirit alive, aren't you?" Varric said accusatorily.

"Don't talk about her as if she were dead," Fenris said, immediately becoming irate.

"Wow," Varric said, amused. "That's not even what I meant."

"Your brother leaving the miners out to dry enraged them," Fenris said. "And Hawke leaving out of the blue embittered them."

"We compensated them, though."

"I don't know what to tell you. She had a way with them. We don't."

Varric wasn't having it. He worked too hard on his speech.

"Enough deflecting, smarty pants," Varric said crossly.

"Whenever you're ready, boss," Fenris said condescendingly.

Varric growled. "Alright, if I admit I have a problem, then you admit you have a problem."

"Fine."

"Great."

"Excellent."

"…Splendid," Varric said, clearing his throat and sitting down in an armchair. Fenris joined him. "I have a problem, alright? I hate what Hawke left me with, and I hate her for leaving me! I hate being in charge. I hate dealing with you people when I'm in charge. I don't function that way. It's not in my veins. I feel like I'm making everyone an enemy. I hate all the damn paperwork because it makes me feel like I'm back in the Merchants Guild, and I hate being outside because it reminds me of Hawke. I mean, I can't even write anymore! Do you know what that does to a writer? It's agony!" He rubbed his forehead. "And this, all this, is all Bartrand's fault! I hate him more than words could describe and I hate that I can't find him and shove all this hurt I have right in his stupid face and smother him with it!" He took a second to catch his breath, and went on calmly, "Now you."

Fenris crossed his arms. "Fine. I'm… upset."

"One lousy adjective. Really?" Varric said. "I wrote you a whole paragraph!"

Fenris flailed his arms in frustration. "I apologise I don't have the advanced introspective skills everyone expects me to have!"

There was a little silence. "It's okay, kid. You don't have to be good at that. Just… just a little more information would help, you know."

"Fine. I'm upset with Hawke."

"So, what happened? Did your love burn too bright?"

"There was nothing to burn." He looked to the fire. "There was nothing to begin with."

Varric listened brotherly. "Bullshit. Then why did you both smell nice in the Deep Roads, hm?"

"That's really none of your business."

"Alright. Have it your way. But I think we could both use some venting, don't you?"

Fenris sighed heavily. "I suppose you're right."

"That's what I like to hear," Varric said, smiling.

Fenris looked at his dwarven chair. "Did you… did you bring a swivelling chair here just to tell me that?"

"Not important," Varric said. "Wicked Grace?"

"Yes, please."

Afternoon, The Docks

Another month had passed. Fenris and Isabela were walking towards the Docks at the end of their work schedule. Anders had already had enough. The elf had forgotten to report back to the Qunari on a minor matter, and the pirate seemed to be following him.

"But do you really have chains under that armour?" Isabela went on.

"No?" Fenris said, confused.

"You know what they say—once you go in chains, you can never go back."

Oh, she was talking dirty. Of course, she was. What on Thedas made her think making sex slave jokes were going to work on him? He contained his anger, because it would have exploded in her face.

"Oh, right. You're flirting… again," Fenris said, his tone becoming tired at the end.

"Maker, you're really bad at this," Isabela said incredulously. "Look, it's fine if I'm not your type, but you're gonna have a hard time with these things if someone does interest you."

Did he forget to tell her? "Romantic and sexual entanglements do not interest me."

"For real?" Isabela demanded, unconvinced. "You're what… asexual?"

Fenris wasn't a scholar in sex and gender studies. He didn't know what the academic definition of asexual was, or if there were subcategories. Sure, it sounded more and more like him the more people said it to him, either passive-aggressively or right to his face; but in his layman estimations, recent events had given him a swift kick in the arse out of that category.

But as with many people that just recently started growing into themselves, a traumatic aberration too many invited Fenris to revert back to his last previously stable state.

He stopped them, staring grimly in her eyes. "You have a problem with that?"

Isabela squinted at him. "I just don't buy it."

"Please, continue to repel me, then," Fenris said sarcastically, leaving.

"Repel?" Isabela said, laughing after him. "And here I thought I was laying it on thick."

"It's quite accurate, actually," Fenris said, stopping them at the Qunari compound. "You treat me as if I'm one of the weak and the pathetic that you like catering to with your excessive crotch talk and your cleavage cascades. Stop boring me and do your job."

Isabela seemed hurt, but he was wrong about the reason. She took a step back. "On second thought, it's just gonna be a long and boring conversation. You like those, don't you? You go ahead. I'll be at the Hanged Man."

"Really, now?" Fenris said, turning back to her and crossing his arms. "You're afraid you'll be bored? Or are you just afraid?"

"I'm not afraid," Isabela said, hesitating a little.

Isabela had weirdly excused herself off in front of the Qunari compound before. Hawke found it odd, but didn't insist on the matter. But now it was twice she did, and she had chosen the wrong person to be alone with. He had a whole array of problems of the heart he was trying to avoid with useless intellectual pursuits.

"I should hope not. You're a pirate, aren't you?" Fenris said.

"I'm a Captain, actually," Isabela said defensively.

"Captain…" Fenris nodded to himself. "Captains are quite used to bravery and boredom."

"I'm off duty," Isabela said, crossing her arms.

He grinned meanly. "Would you like me to tell everyone how scared you are of the Qunari?"

"Good luck making people believe you," Isabela said.

"Seeing is believing, right?" Fenris said, gesturing at the Docks. "How many times can you avoid this before it becomes obvious, hmm?"

And just like with Wicked Grace, rare though it was, he saw that muscle near her nose twitch. Her tell she was in trouble.

"Alright, fine," Isabela said, looking down. Her eyes flickered, which Fenris failed to notice. "But you can't tell people, okay?"

"I'll keep your secret… depending on how boring it is," Fenris said.

"Oh, it's boring," Isabela said, nodding. She looked away, pursing her lips. "So shut up about it, because I don't want it to get to Hawke."

"You're only making it more interesting now," Fenris said, waiting.

Isabela sighed. "They make me angry, okay?" she said, scratching her head. "Because of… feminism."

Fenris narrowed his eyes. "Because of… feminism."

She rolled her eyes. "Those shits are just slavers, and they make their women only substitute mothers, cooks and cleaners. I don't like that."

"I thought you said you weren't a feminist," Fenris said, squinting.

"That's because I don't want Hawke to talk to me about it for fifteen fucking hours!" Isabela said, rubbing her head. "Then it goes into politics and the world and ethics, and just, bleh! BLEH!"

"But you are a feminist, then," Fenris pressed.

"Agh, are you going to suck me into a fifteen-hour conversation on intersectionality?" Isabela said tiredly, holding onto her knees.

"No," he said, shrugging.

"Fine. I'm a feminist. This stuff gets on my nerves."

"You have had bad experiences, then?"

"What woman on this planet doesn't have bad experiences?" Isabela said, widening her arms. "Sure, you've got empresses and princesses and major noblewomen. They are sort of free. They've got a small array of choices. They could be mothers, politicians, or, more recently, knights, like Aveline. But common women don't have any of those privileges. From the moment you're born your life's laid out before you. Wife and mother. Start your training, little girl! Don't play outside with the boys, you gotta look after your baby sisters and brothers and help in the kitchen!" she said angrily, flailing her arms. "If you're a woman and you can't defend yourself, if no one's on your side, you're just a slave."

"Are you actually comparing gender roles to slavery?" Fenris said with half-lidded eyes.

"Please tell me how it's any different!" Isabela said, waiting patiently.

He had already had this debate with Hawke and knew it was unwinnable. Both lacked an experience only the other one had, just like with the mage debate. It would take advanced levels of empathy to reach an understanding, and all that empathy was bumming him out. But a little, bit by bit, that he could handle. So, he thought he should give Isabela some credit.

"My, my," Fenris said arrogantly. "It almost sounded like you were a human being for a second."

"Well, second's over," Isabela said with a tail between her legs. "Go talk to your Qunari boyfriend."

Afternoon, The Qunari Compound

Fenris needed to 'go outside and talk to people', as Varric put it. In his free time. The nerve on that dwarf.

The reality was, after Hawke had bolted, it was once again clear he was not good at making friends. He scared, upset or bored people. The feeling was mutual on the latter two. He didn't want to spend time with the Qunari—his feelings on their philosophy were quite insurmountable—but he felt for the Arishok, in a way. He too was stuck and had no one to talk to. He noticed it from a mile away when he got lost in conversation with Hawke, an alleged representative of everything that was 'wrong with society'.

So, in that spirit of temporary neutrality, Fenris sought out to further his personal growth. How, he wasn't sure. But he thought the Arishok could be the answer. He was always quite patient and professorial in his manner of speech.

Nothing to do, of course, with the fact the Arishok had a minor obsession with Hawke. There was no similarity there to explore.

"Ah, the so-called Viddathari is back," the Arishok said, life coming into his eyes.

"Arishokost," Fenris said, raising his palm in peace.

"Shanedan," he said patiently.

"I found your Kith slain near the Tal-Vashoth hide-out."

The Qunari sighed in annoyance. "Of course."

"I did not slay the Tal-Vashoth," Fenris clarified.

"We can hunt our own outcasts, Kabethari," the Arishok said. "There is no further need for your… services."

"With all due respect, Arishok, I do not appreciate being called Kabethari," Fenris said. It meant 'simple person', attributed frequently to captured Seheroni natives that were awaiting re-education.

"Of course…" the Qunari said, chuckling. He came forward in his seat. "How could I not see it earlier? You are from Seheron."

"I am not going to debate you over the spilled blood of my people, Arishok," Fenris said firmly.

"Very well," the general said. "Debate me this, then. Do you enjoy wallowing in the South with no purpose?"

"No," Fenris said flatly. "But I will not submit to the Qun."

"I am not here to convert, young man," the Arishok said calmly. This was true. It was not within his role to do so. The only way that was happening is if the Qunari had plans to invade and bring their re-educators, and this was too small an army to face the wrath of a united continent. "I am merely curious how you will find a solution to your Asala-taar in this greedy and careless world."

Asala-taar literally meant 'soul-sickness'. It was akin to what Non-Qunari called shell shock or post-traumatic stress illness. Seheron was mother to its people, and the war father to her soul-sickness.

"That remains to be seen," Fenris said.

The Arishok laughed. "You are more Qunari than you realise, little Ashkaari."

"I am not a slave anymore. Whatever the Qun and I have in common, it is coincidental and has no meaning."

"Because freedom is what gives you meaning?"

"Precisely."

"And…?" the Arishok said, slouching in his chair. "Do you feel free?" He pronounced the word like it was synonymous to trash.

"I am free," Fenris insisted. "That I do not feel free is merely a symptom of soul-sickness."

"Soul-sick people do not make good warriors. You know this I hope," the Arishok said. "Once a Karasten becomes soul-sick, they are no longer able to fulfil their duties to the Qun. They are sent to the Viddhathlok, where their minds and bodies can heal and recover."

"You send them to be re-educated," Fenris said, containing himself. "I would rather be soul-sick and find my own way. No one can know you better than yourself."

"I admire your resilience, Ashkaari, and I wish you good luck in your foolish endeavour," the Arishok said, crossing his arms. "But you seek to continue the same role you have been given under Tevinter and expecting different results."

Of course, for him the difference between a slave bodyguard and a hired sword was so small it was virtually non-existent. The only way it was honourable was if it had a Qunari stamp on it, even if the actions of all three were more or less the same. And yet in neither scenario did the Arishok fathom the importance of agency. It meant nothing more to him than the choice of accepting what you are meant to be under the Qun.

If the elven race was a failure under Tevinter, it was because it didn't follow the Qun. If the elven race was still a failure under the South, it was because it didn't follow the Qun. But the South failed elves because it destroyed them and erased them, then it offered a condescending little hand up, a small illusion of choice in a world of inescapable poverty and racism. But southern elves were nevertheless free to think and act. Poverty and racism could be changed. They were not necessary for freedom.

And there it was, Hawke back in his head.

"I thought the Qun doesn't believe in changing roles," Fenris said suspiciously.

"If the given role was wrong, then a correction needs to be made. That is where the Viddhathlok comes in," the Arishok said. For the first time, he had admitted Qunari made mistakes. "It remains to be seen whether it was a mistake, in your case."

Fenris thought about it. There was nothing he could do other than sell his sword. He had no other formal skills, and his social skills felt hopeless. It was either Hawke or an endless life of nomadism. And he was tired.

His mind so tired, his body exhausted.

"I hope it wasn't," Fenris said with a little voice. He hoped she would come back. As ironic as it sounded, she was the order to his chaos. That much was certain in her absence. He looked back up at the Qunari. "But I remain open-minded."

"Good," the Arishok said, grinning. "That's what I like to hear."

Such a paradox. Perhaps he didn't realise the freedom of thought that his high position granted him. Perhaps he was blinder than he realised.

"Where do you suggest I start looking?" Fenris said. "In Bas land, to be perfectly clear."

"I do not wish to empower Bas," the Arishok said.

"But you empowered a Bas, didn't you?" Fenris said. "You empowered Hawke."

"I empowered Hawke only to meet a demand of the Qun. The rest of the conditions that brought her to me were a result of selfishness and greed."

"You mean survival," Fenris said.

"They are synonymous in your world," the Arishok said, grinning.

"Yet you stained your purpose when you consulted with Bas," Fenris said. "Does the Triumvirate approve of your methods or do they hear back only what they need to hear?"

He had him. The Arishok was slowly and silently beginning to fume. "I have yet to see if consultation with your commander is of any worth. But I will give her credit where it is deserved. She did not approve of the dwarf's actions. She tells me the truth where it isn't in her favour. She tries, in her own foolish Bas way, to uphold the tenants of fairness and equality under the Qun. And she keeps good company."

"Thank you," Fenris said. "Do you really believe she upholds Qunari values?"

"Since I arrived here, I have seen nothing but greed. Wealthy Bas hire people more competent than them and stand in their shadow pretending it is theirs. It disgusts me. That is why I'm not entirely repelled by your commander. She does not invent illusions nor exploit her fellow Bas. Where is she, these days, by the way? I heard she was going on an expedition. Don't tell me a little money dangling in her eyes changed her philosophy?"

"No. She is away, looking for her brother."

"Good. No one left behind. Another Qunari value to uphold," the Arishok said with a little grin. "And why are you not with her to fulfil this duty?"

"Good question," Fenris said, looking down. "She did not want anyone with her."

"Interesting," the Arishok said, holding his chin. "Does she not trust her antaam?"

"She fears her power to overextend influence on us in a demand that she considers personal," Fenris said. But perhaps he was right. Perhaps trust was also at play. He didn't have the whole story.

"The personal is political," the Arishok said.

Fenris immediately laughed, which made him unhappy. He gathered himself quickly.

"Something amusing you, Bas?" the Qunari said with quiet threat.

"Nothing, it's just that this is a tenant of feminism in the South, and the Qun is far from sharing such values," Fenris said.

"I will withhold my thoughts on the subject as a courtesy to Hawke," the Arishok said. At best, she was Akun-Athlok to him. A transgender man.

He was definitely obsessed with her. But he had to give him some credit. He was one of few men who did not change tune when only men were around, despite his opinions. To him, Fenris was just an extension of Hawke, and she had earned his respect.

The fact that she considered herself the embodiment of chaos would probably upset the Arishok. That and the fact she was a mage. He wondered how far the Qunari's brains would explode if he heard the news. But that was not the kind of information Fenris would share.

"I appreciate your time," Fenris said, excusing himself. "Be in peace."

"One moment," the Arishok demanded. "You seek enlightenment outside of the Qun. I am the wrong person to give you such. But if you do remain open-minded in your search, I would suggest you look at your relationships first."

"I'm… sorry?" Fenris said, turning around.

"We can only exist as a body. Even you, Bas, are a part of it, as cancerous and defeated as this body of Bas is. Outside of systemic change, you can only look to your fellow Karasten and seek wisdom, or impart it."

"Oh, I've been doing a lot of seeking and imparting, believe me," Fenris said, thinking of Hawke.

"We shall see how well you can do that without a leader, Ashkaari," the Arishok said, and left.

Was that… an invitation to chat again?

Sunset, The Keep

Fenris looked around at the drab buildings and streets of Lowtown. It all just felt sad and empty. He massaged his temples from that long conversation with the Arishok, and went up the stairs to Hightown.

If there was any fellow Karasten he got along with, it was Aveline. He would visit her at the barracks sometimes, since the woman wouldn't go out and take up a hobby if it killed her. And he couldn't help but like her a little, whenever they had things in common.

He wondered if it was all mechanical, this keeping in touch. That they were keeping to an illusion that the band was still a band, because Hawke was the only thing that brought them together. Then again, he wondered if it was more than that. That at least between him, Aveline and Varric, there was a thread of hurt that tied them together. Perhaps Varric was right. Perhaps there was a functionality to venting.

And if there was anyone that needed a good venting, it was Aveline. She was like Hawke's big sister. It must have been tearing her apart inside.

And when he opened the door to her office and saw her brush her eyes as if she was crying, he couldn't help but feel the Maker had a plan for him.

"I'm… sorry. Is this a bad time?" Fenris said politely.

Aveline inhaled and composed herself. "No, come in," she said, clearing her throat and offering him a seat.

"Aveline," he said flatly, sitting down.

She looked away. "It would be two years today since we arrived in Kirkwall."

"Would?" he asked, confused.

"Yes, would," she said softly. "There are less of us now."

"True," he said amicably. "You went through terrible times together."

"Some things one does not wish to remember," Aveline said, intertwining her fingers on her abdomen.

"Did Hawke seem… unhinged, to you, back then?" Fenris pressed, all detective-like. "I remember Carver saying that when we met. That she got into some trouble."

Aveline stared darkly at him. "That is not my story to tell."

"Fair enough," he said defeatedly.

She opened her desk and put out a fancy champagne bottle on top. "I couldn't afford to buy something like this last year. Neither did she. When I got my first pay check as Captain, the first thing I did was buy this and save it for our anniversary."

"That's very nice of you," he said. He immediately eyed the wall to her left.

"And… now I have no use for it," she said bitterly.

"She's coming back," he maintained.

"I hope so," she said, but she seemed unconvinced. What would lead her elsewhere? Aveline knew something he didn't.

He couldn't believe that he was the one to say this, but all the tension and bitterness was becoming stale.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but why don't you speak your mind?" he said, keeping a nice tone.

Aveline frowned at him. "And what will that accomplish?"

"Your anger is getting the better of you," Fenris said, unable to see it in himself. "You're cooped up in here more and more. Varric's cooped up in his office all day long. It's frustrating me."

"And what would you have me do? Scream? Punch the table? Have her portrait taken and kick it in the mouth?" she said.

"Do you have words?" he offered.

"I have undignified words," she said grumpily.

Perhaps talking wasn't her strong suit. He liked her even more.

"Alright. I know what you need," he said, coming forward in his seat. "But first, let's make a toast."

She narrowed her eyes. He came up and grabbed two glasses from a nearby tray. She punched the cork out with her gauntlet and poured them a drink.

He raised the glass. "A toast for lost souls," he said.

"And troubled souls," she said, raising her glass.

"Benefaris," he said, clinking his glass into hers.

"Cheers," she said, and drunk.

"Tell me when you're done, because you're going to throw that bottle against the wall."

"What?" she said in outrage.

"Trust me," he said. "If words aren't your strong suit, bottles are excellent."

Aveline drank the rest of her glass, but she hesitated.

"I'm waiting," Fenris said with crossed arms.

"Alright, alright," she said, taking the bottle. She looked at the wall, then at the bottle, then closed her eyes. She threw it with more strength than was needed, and the glass ricocheted through room.

"Feeling better?" he said, his head coming back above the desk.

"A bit," she said, smiling, chuckling. "But it just occurred to me that I should have had another drink."

He smiled a little too.

"Thank you, Fenris," she said softly.

He nodded quietly.

"What did you do?" she asked him. "To get past it, I mean."

"There is nothing for me to get past," he said. He didn't even think it. So much for venting buddies. He felt like such a hypocrite.

"Don't lie to me, Fenris," she said, eyeing him. "I see how you look at her."

"Like my eyes are in the back of my head?" he said.

"You do realise that girl tells me every detail of her entire life as it happens to her."

Oh… Girls talked. Of course… When were they going to teach the boys that trick?

"And just what did she tell you?" he said. He felt like crossing his arms, but they were already so.

"Oh, nothing. Just about hand-holding… baths… stargazing. You know, what friends do."

His mouth made a nearly perfect O. "She told you about that?"

"What part of 'every detail of her entire life' did you not understand?"

He covered his forehead, the hand drooping on his entire face.

"Any words you'd like to express?" she said smugly.

He had no words. He just had an undeniable feeling of sadness. He barely had the nerve to think about it all this time. It made him feel too fragile. So, she started coming up in his dreams. Not in any regular dream, but in his Fog Dream. She started to take on the persona of the presenter, all with a navy frock coat, purple vest and turquoise bow tie. She even had a top hat. He was riding that insomnia dragon like a motherfucker.

"I think I'm going to throw my bottle at home by myself," he said, standing up.

"Oof, that bad, huh?" she said with a kind of pity.

He stopped himself in the doorway, touching the wall. "We should do this more often."

"Really, even after I upset you?" she said.

"Even so," he said through his hair. "Maybe we could get Varric, too. He needs to get out more."

"It's good of you to do this, Fenris," she said, smiling approvingly.

Evening, The Amell Estate

And finally, there was Leandra. The worst of them all. Sitting alone in a giant house, childless. Fenris couldn't help but empathise, so he would come for dinner every week. They helped her move into the estate. Fenris himself volunteered for manual labour with Aveline, while Anders condescendingly levitated things. She had taught him to cook, a feat in which Hawke had never managed to nor wished to excel. He quite enjoyed it, though. It was like an art. Sometimes he'd bring over his experiments to get feedback. Then there was also the fact she talked about Hawke constantly, and he needed that, if only to listen.

She seemed meditative as they drank their after-dinner wine. "It should be pouring in Ferelden right now," she said. "Well… it's always pouring in Ferelden. Does it rain much in Minrathous?"

"Sometimes too much, sometimes not enough," Fenris said.

"Then I suppose we are both trying to adjust to this change in climate," Leandra said, chuckling. "It's strange though."

"What is?"

"The baffling difference between civilisations, and yet, we are all but soul vessels with the same heart, beating and beating… until it just stops," she said, very bittersweet.

He didn't say anything, so she started to apologise.

"I'm sorry, Fenris. I get sentimental sometimes. It keeps Malcolm alive in here," she said, caressing her heart.

"I've been told he was a great man," he said, in a kind of half-truth. Hawke was a bit less generous.

"Politics and jokes, that was Malcolm. There were times I wanted to fill his pockets with corn and toss him into the pig pen."

He chuckled. "What an uncanny resemblance."

"Mhm," she said, smiling tiredly. "She's a smart girl. All that restless brain energy needs to go somewhere."

"I'm familiar with the trouble," he said. Much too familiar.

"She's the perfect mix of me and Malcolm," she said, drinking her wine. "Too much thinking, too much sympathy. She'll wear herself out one day."

"Do you believe that's in her interest?" he said.

She smiled bitterly. "No, I suppose I don't," she said. "The point of children is to outgrow their parents, be better than them. I just worry sometimes…" She looked away.

"What are you worried about?" he said. Maybe, finally, she'd tell him what happened in Lothering.

"That I made a mistake, bringing her to Kirkwall," she said. "I… thought it would be best for us, because we had family and a name here. But… things are different now, with the new Templar administration. It's become much worse than in my youth. And… I came to understand her better now, just as she left."

"We look out for her, don't worry," he said. "No one's taking her to the Circle on my watch."

"How… strange of you to say that," she said, smiling. "I'm grateful all the same."

Who knows what stories about him she told her mother. But if she had painted him that badly to a house of mages, Leandra wouldn't have had him for dinner, would she?

"Malcolm had a hard time in the Circle," she said pensively, spinning her wine glass.

"Why's that?"

"He was Fereldan, and he had no one. His mother died when he was young, you see."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"He was terrible at making friends. Some of us are, of course. I became his friend, despite his lack of charm. I suppose I helped him make a few more."

Not good at making friends? Prepare the dam, Fenris, the empathy floods are coming.

"Which is quite ironic because to him I was everything that's 'wrong with the world'."

"What do you mean?"

"He despised nobles. Mages or otherwise. He came from the bottom. He had no trust and no respect."

"How does a noble-despising, less than charming mage get a voluntary friend?"

"I was under a lot of pressure back then to get married. Mother took me to all the balls, all the operas and soirees. It was so boring."

Fenris raised his eyebrows. "So, Leandra went for the bad boy."

She chuckled. "He may have wanted you to believe he was a bad boy, but he was just a sad clown with a fondness for magic spit balls."

Sad clown. How accurate, he thought.

"He was going to waste away in there, if not for a little happy accident," she said, smiling a little.

"Is that why you fled to Ferelden, then?" he said, impressed. "Because of her?"

"Indeed," she said, reminiscing. "He didn't want that life for her. I didn't either. The solution was clear as day."

"But she said the apostate life is very hard."

"It's not great. Commoners have it bad, but travelling nobodies have it worse. It took us years before we found a stable home. Carver doesn't remember that time very well, but Hildegaard does," she said, a little remorse in her voice.

"And no regrets?" he said.

"No," she said, smiling. "Absolutely not. We had a home, in the end. We had a real family. We had love. Love is the most important thing, you know."

"I wouldn't know," he said. But that was, in part, a lie. Someone else had told him that, a long time ago.

"I'm sure you will, someday," she said warmly. "You're a strapping young man. I'm sure the ladies are swooning over you."

He chuckled involuntarily. "Yes, I can't pass a lady in the street without unsettling them, one way or another."

She shook her head, looking straight through him. "Well, there's a lady with nerves of steel out there for you, I'm sure."

Fenris found himself thinking hateful and vengeful thoughts about geography, since there wasn't here, and he didn't even know where there was. The nerve on there to just leave him like that. No word, no warning.

"In the meantime, I can mother you about," Leandra said. "Forgive me, but old habits die hard."

"It's been my pleasure to be mothered," he said, raising his glass to her.

"You're a good man, Fenris," she said. "I know you can't find the strength to see it just yet, but I can tell you this—your mother, wherever she may be, would be very proud of you."

He masked away a smile through his hair and remained silent.

She smiled warmly. "Malcolm and I haven't cracked the secrets of the universe. But I think the world is meant to remain a mystery. If there is any explanation for why the times are like they are, we are not meant to hit upon it. We should just embrace it and love people as much as we can. Of that much, I'm sure."

Night time, Fenris's Mansion

He had nothing, once more. He was just bittersweet, but a little anger came to the surface, finally. Anger at her. That last night at his house meant something to him. He had allowed her to see him as he was, with little inhibition or distrust. He enjoyed every minute of it. And now he was left with unresolved feelings. More unresolved feelings. The list was probably taller than he was.

He heard stompy footsteps in the hallway, the harpoons not firing. He came outside, his heart beating in his chest.

"Bonus vesper," Hawke said, her Tevinter accent an entertainment and a half.

Fenris watched her, petrified. They began a staring match, which he broke by pushing her into the wall.

"Where the hell have you been?" he asked angrily.

"Where haven't I been? Antiva, Rivain, Tevinter. Terribly hot, Tevinter is," she said, grinning a smug grin.

And… he lost it. He didn't even see it before he did it, but he was kissing her, and she kissed him back. Then with a look much alike the coded looks they had in combat, he grabbed her thighs and lifted her up against the wall, her nails sinking into his hair.

"Fenris." He didn't care.

"Fenris!" He didn't care.

The waking world slapped him awake, and Varric was looming over him.

"Alluvin valla kal, what the hell are you doing in my bedroom?" he growled, sitting up.

"It's… noon," the dwarf said. "Didn't you hear the Chantry bell? It's like… thirty feet from your house."

"No," he said sharply.

"Well, get dressed," Varric said, leaving his room. "You were supposed to be in Lowtown two hours ago."

He breathed heavily, his body trembling.

"Any day now!" he heard the dwarf's obnoxiously friendly voice.

"I heard you the first nine times," he mumbled, getting dressed.