SERENA
I don't know what's wrong with me.
Pale moonlight illuminates my path as my legs hurry me back toward Fenris's mansion.
The scene at the Hanged Man repeats in my head over and over, like it's stuck on some gods forsaken loop. Reminding me that Hawke and Isabela were alone. Together. Sharing a very intimate moment from the looks of things. A sight that's filled me with a new profound sense of panic and dread.
I don't know why seeing the two of them alone like that bothers me so much tonight. All I know is that Isabela flirts with everyone—Hawke and the others being no exception. Andruil's bow, even I flirt with her most times!
So then, why?
Why in Elgar'nan's balls am I running away from them so fast? Why do I feel like this?
I should be happy for them. Ecstatic.
But I'm not. It's like I'm suffocating. Like I have no control over my being. And no matter how hard I try, I can't stop thinking about it. About them.
Worrying about them.
But why am I worrying about them? It's Hawke. And Isabela. My friends, who I trust. Shems. What happens between them . . . it's none of my business.
So, why in the Void does it hurt so much?
My chest squeezes, my lungs constricting so tight they feel like they might burst.
Too many damned stairs in this city. And too many damned people. That must be what it is. It must be. Nothing else possibly makes sense.
Completely out of breath, I slow to halt at the top of the Hightown market stairs. I rest there for a moment, fighting to recompose myself. But it's no use. The aches, the pains,—the feelings—they won't go away. Like some incurable disease. A disease I know, but refuse to acknowledge.
Breathe, Serena. Breathe. What's gotten into you lately? Are you ill? You must be. Why must you be acting so . . . so stupid? So childish? Since when did you reverse aging and go back to being an immature da'len? You have to better than this. You must.
I move forward and walk the rest of the way to Fenris's mansion, still tearing myself up inside over my bizarre, inexcusable behavior.
The walk there is quiet and peaceful. No one else wanders the Hightown streets at this late hour, excluding the occasional city guardsman or rare drunken noble. It makes it easy for me to slip into the shadows. A simple pleasure that's very welcome at the moment, considering how raw and vulnerable I currently feel.
A silent darkness awaits me when I arrive at Fenris's mansion. Not even the sound of a rogue draft echoes throughout the decrepit place. An oddity due to how broken down the estate has become in recent years. A result of Fenris's stubbornness, rather than our group's laziness.
Slowly, I head up the stone stairs and stop at my bedroom door.
"You are back early," a familiar low voice greets me from the side.
I jolt and veer to my right.
Fenris is peering out of his quarters next to mine, a perplexed look plastered on his handsome face.
I inhale a sharp, deep breath. "As are you," I retort.
I suppose sneaking around him isn't going to be an option going forward.
Fantastic.
"Weren't you going to go speak with Varric?" he asks, a quizzical look taking over his expression.
Dread crashes down on me like a wave again as I once more recall the scene back at the Hanged Man. "I . . . uh . . . changed my mind." I turn to face my door. An awkward moment passes between us, and I sigh and shake my head. "Gods, that didn't sound convincing even to me. How pathetic."
Fenris extends his uncorked bottle of wine toward me. "Here," he offers, his green eyes cast downward with unspoken sympathy.
I scowl at him. "You're actually letting me have alcohol again? Are you certain that's a wise decision?"
He shrugs. "I'm willing to take the risk."
I hesitate and stare at the bottle, debating my options. "No. I'd better not..."
Fenris's eyes widen. "I never thought I'd see the day."
"Nor I," I laugh.
His soft expression shifts to a glower. "If you're holding back because of me—don't. You need not worry."
"No! I know. It's just . . . It'll only confuse me more." And that's the last thing I need right now. Everything's confusing enough as it is.
"Very well. Suit yourself," he relents.
For a moment, the two of us just stand there. The memory from the Hanged Man returns, repeating with a vengeance. I bite my lip and ruffle up my hair, unable to suppress the growing frustration further. "To the Void with it," I curse and reach for the bottle.
Fenris raises a confused eyebrow at me. "I thought you didn't want it?"
"I don't, but I do. Just pass me the bottle!"
Fenris does so, but just as I'm about to take it, he pulls it away with a broad smirk.
I glare at him, and he hands it to me this time. "Blighted, Tevinter, elf," I grumble. I then take a quick swig of the bottle of red and retire to my quarters, Fenris's faint chuckle ringing in my ears, while I drink myself into a stupor.
HAWKE
The morning Hightown market: it's a great place to visit, most days, assuming you know the right people and the correct, uninflated prices.
Today, however, not so much.
Humans, elves, and dwarves all swarm the packed city streets, exchanging bags full of coin for various bartered goods and services. Most likely in preparation for the big upcoming ball Mother keeps raving on about. The one I think for the Orlesian Marquise's cat? Or was that last month's? I can never remember.
Amongst the never-ending streaming horde, I spot one familiar Dalish elf. She's browsing through a distant produce stand along the outskirts. Her thin arms carry a large basket full of what appears to be fruits and vegetables. Her favorite type of meal, or so she insists. Personally, I don't see the appeal. I like to feel full, thank you very much. But to each their own.
As I get closer, I notice she's sporting some pretty dark circles under her eyes. Her whites are also tinged slightly red, and she appears to be squinting with great effort at the merchandise. Which can all only add up to one thing.
"Someone was out drinking late last night, I see," I call out to her, and she looks over at me.
An unexpected harshness fills her gaze. "Yes . . ." she answers, then quickly pivots away from me again.
I raise an eyebrow at her. "What was that look for?"
"Nothing," she insists.
But she still avoids making eye contact with me. A key habit of hers, whenever she's upset.
"You're a terrible liar." I take a step closer to stand beside her.
She rolls her eyes and adds another apple to her basket. "Like you're any better," she scoffs.
Okay . . . Yes. Something is wrong. Definitely wrong.
But what?
What happened? I can't of anything, other than the big move. But she didn't seem this pissed off last night.
"Did I do something I'm not aware of?" I ask with a confused tilt of my head.
Serena perks up and scowls at me. "Why would you ask that?"
"You seem upset?"
"Upset?" She glances off to the side and shakes her head. "No. No, I wouldn't say that . . . " Her tone takes on an almost pensive tone, as if she wasn't quite sure herself..
"If that's sarcasm, it sounded much more realistic than usual."
"I'm not upset!" she snaps.
But her rising voice fails to persuade me. If anything, it only increases my worry further.
After adding one more peach and carrot to her basket, Serena hands the stall owner a handful of coins and moves toward Hightown without another word.
"Serena, wait," I reach out and grab her shoulder.
She turns to face me, and I notice my heart's racing now. Something's gnawing in the back of my head, telling me not to let her go.
"What?" she asks, staring wide-eyed at me, her expression softening.
I struggle to find words.
Maker, am I overthinking this? Is she really fine? If so, then I'm just annoying her.
Should I trust her at her word and leave her be? Or . . . ?
I gulp and rub the back of my neck. "No, it's . . . It's nothing," I surrender, determined not to be even more of a bother after our big discussion yesterday.
Serena's shoulders droop. "Oh. Very well," she says. "Until we meet again, Hawke."
Serena then exits the marketplace, leaving me once again standing there, wondering what I might've done to cause all this, and if it was truly wise to let the subject go.
