FENRIS

The doubt never ends.

A week has drawn on since Serena's collapse on the coast. Since then, none of us have said a word about the blood mage's revelation. A welcome avoidance, although, unlikely to last.

In the meanwhile, I've focused on throwing myself into work. My goal: to store up enough coin to fund Varric's covert hirelings, so that they may look into leads about this 'Varania' Hadriana advised me about two months ago, before her death.

However, every time I try to speak with the dwarf about the possibility of taking the next precautionary step forward, this fear creeps back in. Warning me that this must be a trap. Danarius must already know. Why else would Hadriana know? And why else would she choose to tell me about it?

It is an endless circle. And I the fabricator and its prisoner.

Vasta fass! This is not how this is supposed to be!

I slam my drink down on the tavern table.

I promised Serena I would try to reflect—to settle this hate and doubt eating away inside me.

But how am I supposed to do that while Danarius still lives? His shadow haunting me at every turn? I cannot seek out my own supposed sister without fearing her mind might be corrupted by the magisters!

I take another swig of my Hanged Man's ale, it's renown stale-bread flavor filling my mouth. A horrid substitute compared to the vintage wine back at the mansion. But a necessity, in order to retain our slimming rations.

Another figure approaches me from the direction of the bar. I look up as they slump down into the empty chair across from mine.

It's Anders, the abomination.

Just what I need.

"Seems you do have some sense after all," he says, leaning back in his seat.

I scowl at the accursed, smiling mage.

He takes a long gulp from his tankard, then sets it down on the table between us. "Serena told me about what happened between you two," he says, and I tense up. "My lips are sealed." He does a quick, swiping gesture in front of his mouth. "But I felt I should at least thank you in person for looking after her, even though it does pain me to do so."

I bristle at the comment—the skin prickling along the top of my spine. "And why is that?" I scoff. "If it troubles you so much, why come all the way here?"

And why would she bother telling you at all?

That's what I would like to ask, but I somehow swallow that bit of bile down.

Anders glares at me. "Serena's my friend, whether you choose to believe that or not. And I have enough respect for her to give those she deems important their due. You happen to fall into that category, and she insisted I try to make amends, to get along with you better. So, what better place to do so than at the Hanged Man, where I can at least get drunk while doing so?"

He takes another long gulp of his brew, and a strained silence falls between us. One where I wish he would leave. Call an end to this pointless, irritating charade.

And yet, he remains.

Whether it's due to this so-called loyalty of his to Serena or simply another effort to annoy me remains to be seen. However, if it is the latter, it's working.

"You two must be close if she informed you of the totality of what transpired between us," I note, resigning myself to the fact he's not just going to go away. "How is that? How did you two come to meet?"

Anders jolts. "Wouldn't you like to know," he sneers and gives me a haughty smirk. "Well, too bad! I'm not going to tell you!"

I frown. "You're doing an awfully poor job at trying to get along with me better."

And even worse at hiding your suspicious evasiveness.

"Considering you haven't threatened to rip my heart out of my chest yet, I think I'm doing splendidly!" Anders flashes me another derisive smile and lifts his mug high in the air.

"It is still early yet, mage," I snarl, taking another sip of my ale.

"And there's still plenty of drinks to go around, too!" He waves his arms out wide, unfazed.

I huff and roll my eyes.

Insufferable.

This doubt. This city. This mage. Everything.

They are all insufferable.


SERENA

One day at a time. That's how I've been trying to take life on lately, in an effort to carve my path forward.

It's caused a significant shift to my already 'busy' schedule.

Rather than lounging around or training late into the night, I now spend most of my day thinking; secluding myself back in my home in the alienage, in hopes of pursuing internal progress. Only once the sun sets do I dare stop. But my evenings don't finish there.

Afterwards, I run around Kirkwall, using any unspent energy to help Anders deliver potions and poultices, up until the others call for cards, dinner, or drinks. Whichever they prefer.

It seems more often than not that Fenris and I have had to cart each other back to Hightown after the latter two options, with Hawke often serving as an unenthusiastic supervisor—and rarely a fellow participant.

On the nights he is sober, though, I notice an uncertain look of trepidation in his eyes. And only while looking at me. It's like he's hiding something, or there's something he wishes to discuss. Whatever it might be, however, he's hinted at and said nothing, and I refuse to pry.

If he has something to say to me, he'll do it, in his own time. Just as he's always done, with all our other companions. And if he's hesitating so much, that might not be such a bad thing to wait. The less stress I have on my shoulders right now, the better—both figuratively and literally speaking. I've got my own personal development to worry about at the moment.

Outside of these new, regular walks of ours and my reinvented self-reflection schedule, Hawke's also been dropping by the mansion far more frequently of late, which has made the change in him more obvious. It's unclear if it's related, but his rigid demeanor remains, even then. Trapped behind his persistent, charming façade he refuses to ever break.

As a result of his near constant presence at the mansion, Hawke, Fenris, and I have started playing cards together there a lot more recently, along with Donnic, Merrill, and Varric, who've started joining in on the fun. I'm currently cleaning up after one such gathering we had last night. Everyone already left earlier this morning; with rather gruesome hangovers, I might add. However, I'd yet to find the willpower to tend to the aftermath until now. Something I doubt Fenris will be up to do for quite a while yet, considering last night's outcome.

As I sweep up what remains of the crumbs from our late party snacks, I hear a familiar knock at the front door. Hawke's knock, marked noticeably by two sets of rapid knocks, followed by three more.

I set down the broom and rush out of the dining room to let him in. He's waiting patiently outside when I open the door.

He smiles down at me with his stunning dark brown eyes, tinged ever so slightly red from lack of sleep, the depths shimmering like molten amber. "Good! You are up. I was wondering if you'd be staying in bed all day or not," he teases.

I swallow down the jittery sensation, rising in my chest because of him, and cross my arms. "Oh, don't get me wrong! I was tempted. But someone has to maintain the upkeep around here. Otherwise, who knows how many more animal occupants we might have. I might as well start a circus at this point, in hopes of collecting some extra rent!"

Hawke laughs—that low rumble of his like music to my ears. "Fair point," he says.

He rubs at the back of his neck. His past tension returning.

"I . . . uh . . . came by just to check and see how you're doing," he continues. "Aveline's asked me to drop by the Gallows later to speak with Emeric, about all the missing women in town."

"Emeric? The guy we spoke to three years ago? He's still going at it?"

"Apparently." He shrugs. "And not with too much success from what I hear. But he seems to believe he's found a lead."

I recall the troublesome vision I had back on the coast with the fake 'Leandra' in it. As well as the disturbing pile of bones we found in the Lowtown foundry a few years ago, which we assume belonged to Ninette.

Could Emeric actually be right? Could they all really be connected somehow?

The disappearances?

The murders?

Even . . . that?

An unsettling nervousness weighs atop my shoulders.

My gut churns.

"What's troubling you?" Hawke asks, tilting his head at me.

"I . . . I don't know," I whisper. "Something . . . Something doesn't feel right . . . I think it's important that you look into this. Do you mind if I stay at your place in the meantime? To keep watch over Orana and your mother?"

"My mother?" Hawke raises his eyebrows at me.

"Yes, your mother." I nod with a firm scowl. "A lot of the women who've gone missing come from nobility, don't they? It's best that at least one of us stays around to keep watch over her, don't you think?"

Hawke frowns. "Hm. Alright. I can't argue with that . . . But be warned. You know what you're getting into, right?"

He smirks at me, and I roll my eyes.

Dirthamen, why do I sign myself up for these things?


HAWKE

"Serena! It is so good to see you!" Mother calls as soon as we enter the estate.

She rushes up to Serena with a broad smile and grasps Serena's hands, the fondness behind the gesture a bit more heart-warming than I would've expected.

"It's good to see you again as well, Mrs. Amell." Serena bows her head with a smile in kind. "I'm glad to see you're doing well."

"Yes, and even better still!" Mother beams. "Now that you'll be joining us for a short while, we'll finally have more time to get better acquainted with one another. Hawke never updates me on how you all are doing, and this house has felt so empty and quiet ever since Bethany left for the circle! It'll do both Garrett and I some good to have another woman around the house."

I almost fail to stifle an unexpected laugh, seeing Serena's lip twitch from the growing stress on her face.

Mother doesn't appear to notice her faltering acting efforts, and her eyes widen, something just occurring to her. "Oh! Speaking of which, how do you like your tea, dear? I'll ask Orana to prepare a batch right away." She starts backing away toward the kitchen. "Oh! And perhaps some pastries and little cakes, too! Are you feeling peckish at all for anything? Any preferences?"

"I'm fine, but thank you," Serena holds one declining hand up. "I'm certain whatever Orana prepares, it'll be delicious."

Or so she says.

Personally, I doubt she has any taste buds whatsoever, considering the way she scarfs down food or drinks in a matter of moments. Any stranger might assume she was starving or extremely dehydrated. Yet, after three years of sharing a table and bar together, I know that's not the case. Her condition has always been better than I still have no idea where it all goes. It remains perhaps one of the greatest unresolved mysteries in Thedas.

"Very well. I'll be right back then," Mother disappears further into the estate.

Serena waits until Mother's out of earshot to heave out a loud sigh. One of resignation, exhaustion—the price of this supposed 'mission' of hers she insists is worth the extra trouble. At least until the conclusion of our investigation, anyways. Whenever that might be.

"Alright. I'm taking that as my cue to head out." I look over at her. "You sure you're okay with this? Bodahn can always keep an eye on her in your stead."

"No, I'll feel much better knowing one of us is guarding her, while you raid this suspect's mansion," she shakes her head. "Just . . . please. Don't take too long. Try to resolve this as quick as you can."

This time I can't help but chuckle at the pleading tone of her voice. "What? Not having fun already?"

Serena frowns at me.

Her frustrated expression only makes me laugh harder. "Of course! In all seriousness, I'll try. But who knows? Aveline and Meredith could be right. This could all just be a wild goose chase, led on only by conjecture."

"Maybe," Serena mutters, lowering her gaze. "But this reclusive nobleman sounds far too suspicious for my liking. Especially based off everything you've told me."

"True. I can't deny that," I agree.

After all, what are the chances he actually managed to inquire about every single one of the missing women? Even more so when he's already seen so rarely outside of his estate? It sounds too perfect to be a set up, and too convenient to simply let lie.

"Regardless, I need to head out now. The others are waiting." I reface the door. "Until later then."

"Hawke," Serena speaks up, just as I pull the handle.

I halt and look back at her.

She gives me a sly, impish smirk. "Be safe. And try not to do anything too foolish without me. You hear?"

I laugh. "And you try not to enjoy Mother's company too much without me," I jest.

Serena groans, rolls her eyes, then marches her way deeper into the main foyer, one meager-packed knapsack swinging over her armored shoulder.


"This was foolish, Hawke. Very foolish," Fenris mutters as Varric, Fenris, Anders, and I storm our way out of the Gallows, in our rush to reach Lowtown as fast as possible.

The four of us tried reporting back to Emeric about twenty minutes earlier, late this afternoon, in order to catch him up to speed regarding our raid on Gascard DuPuis's mansion last night. However, rather than being met by the templar in question, another recruit—Moira, I believe her name was—greeted us in his stead. Only to pass on word about a supposed note I had delivered, requesting a private audience with the templar in some precarious, backend alleyway.

Which I didn't.

"We should have never let Gascard go," Fenris continues grumbling, blame lacing his voice.

"What? He seemed harmless enough at the time. I still don't think he's our killer," I persist.

"But he is still a blood mage. With a templar on his tail. Wielding shades and demons at his disposal."

"Don't forget the suspicious chest of women's clothing stored in his house, either," Varric chimes in. "Or the woman he kidnapped, claiming he hurt her."

"Right. When you put it that way . . . Perhaps I did believe that spiel about avenging his sister too much," I grant. "But it's too late for that now. We need to try to find him, before whoever sent that message finds him first."

And if we don't . . . Maker, I don't even want to think about what kind of trouble we might have to deal with next. Maybe having tea with Mother and Serena wouldn't have been so bad.