Chapter 1: The Letter
Summary: Fenris gets some very bad news, accompanied by some very bad dreams. He starts wrapping up his business in Estwatch.
Fenris spat bitterly on the ground and re-read the last sentences of the letter.
"She meant so much to us both, and now she's gone. I don't know what to do, but I had to write you. If this reaches you, please come to Skyhold. Varric."
The fucking dwarf was the last person Fenris wanted to see. Hawke had only gone to Ferelden as a favour for him, because they were friends and she wanted to help. Of course. If not for Varric, Hawke would still be here, in their humid room in the inn by the sea in Little Llomerryn, laughing in Fenris' arms…
And now, she was dead.
He blinked tears out of his eyes and swallowed as sobs silently took hold of his chest. He imagined, morbidly, how it had happened. Varric said that she and the Inquisitor had gone physically into the Fade; she had probably gone down killing some demon, he figured. They had battled plenty in Kirkwall when blood magic overwhelmed the city, and she had killed every one that came her way, daggers flashing in the light of fire blasts and electric surges, a spirited war cry on her lips. Felissa was stronger now than she had been then, too: why hadn't that been enough? He pictured her, blades drawn, teeth bared, charging at an ogre-like beast as she wove around its legs deftly, finally leaping onto its back and driving a curved dagger through the base of its skull. He thought that, theoretically, the creature could have grabbed her, dashed her against the ground, but the images didn't appear in his mind's eye.
Hawke had seemed invincible, in both strength and spirit. Ever cheerfully sarcastic, even in the most bitter of circumstances. A slaver had charged at her in their most recent raid, and she laughed and quipped that hadn't he heard of her? She cut him down with ease, and just like that, it was another victory in their ceaseless war against slavery in Thedas. Though Hawke always played the cynic, she had permeated their relationship with her own strange brand of optimism. Fenris' surliness never got to her, and she pressed through their arguments and disagreements with a sort of confidence that Fenris had never experienced in his interactions with any other person. She had believed in them. She had believed in him.
There was a knock at the door. Startled, he stood up, wiped his face, and walked over to it.
"Messere?"
He recognized the tentative voice of Iva, the innkeeper.
"Speak," he growled, then softened. She had been nothing but kind to him. He opened the door. "Yes, Iva."
The portly woman peered impatiently at him. "Messere Fenris, there's some stew in the dining room if you'll have it. Wilfred caught a big one today and it won't keep for long." She glanced at the letter, still in his hand.
"Thank you." She nodded and he shut the door.
Glancing about the room, his eyes landed on the book of Fereldan folk stories Felissa had gifted him before she left. He then spotted the half-empty bottle of brandy on the table beside it.
"Fuck", he muttered, and poured himself a glass with shaking hands.
As Fenris took a swig of the drink, he couldn't help but wonder if Hawke would have been able to believe in him now. Would she be sure, with that same certainty, that he could go on without her? He could hear her voice in his ears. Come on, there's no way you liked me more than that sword of yours, and you've still got that, right?
Putting the glass down and his face in his hands, he wept in earnest. He would never hear her voice again.
Fenris awoke the next morning still fully clothed, empty bottle next to him, following a thankfully dreamless sleep. The sun was already high in the sky by the time he stopped staring at the ceiling to glance at the empty bottle of brandy. Groaning, he rose, unsteadily, and stumbled out of the room and into the hallway.
"Iva!" he barked, "Do you have any of that Orlesian red?"
He passed the next few days much in the same manner as the night before. He slept very little, succumbing only when the alcohol or miserable exhaustion knocked him unconscious. Slowly, he examined Felissa's remaining belongings: the ring bearing the family crest, whose honour she had so painstakingly restored in Kirkwall. He slipped it on and remembered its authoritative glint on her finger when meeting with the Viscount. He gripped the handle of a favourite aurum dagger that she had been forced to leave behind in favour of traveling light, but which was the first she bought with the money from the expedition. Her mother's brooch, the last of the old Amell fortune, and the last of Hawke's mementos of her mother. Lastly, there were her clothes: a few undershirts and some leggings. They still smelled of her, and Fenris buried his face in them as he thought of the places they had planned to go, but never would.
On the morning of the third day, after retching into his wash basin, Fenris encountered a moment of clarity. Could Varric have been mistaken somehow? His letter mentioned that he hadn't personally gone to the Fade. It had been Felissa, the Inquisitor, some associates of hers, and a Fereldan Grey Warden. If none of them had actually seen Hawke fall, then she could easily still be alive in the Fade. He didn't know how these things worked, but surely such a possibility existed. Then, she could be freed, surely some damn mage could solve this problem, Feynriel certainly owed them one…
No, he realized. If Felissa was physically trapped in the Fade, she was as good as dead. And Varric, as an associate of the Inquisitor and long-time friend of Hawke, would have verified this information beyond a doubt. Fenris had to accept it. She was gone.
Staring at the empty bottles and inhaling the stench of several days' worth of alcohol and despair around him, Fenris decided that enough was enough. She would have wanted him to carry on with their efforts. Before she left a month ago to help the Inquisition, Hawke had located a potential double agent in the Antivan slave ring operating out of Estwatch, selling as slaves those who did not suit servitude in the Antivan Crows. Fenris was supposed to establish a relationship with the contact while Felissa was gone but had been avoiding the meeting; Hawke had always been so much better with people than him. The agent in question was a minor Orlesian noble who, after being cheated by the Crows when purchasing slaves herself, would be more than willing to flip and provide information about the slave ring. She was still alive due to some connection between her family and the Crows, which was how she had been able to purchase slaves in the first place. The thought of dealing with her disgusted Fenris. However, she was their first lead in months and could prove to be the mechanism by which he would dismantle the Crow slaving operation once and for all.
On her monthly visits to conduct business in Estwatch, the woman usually stayed in a more expensive inn than Iva's in the southern port district of Little Llomerryn, close to the warehouses where many business deals and meetings in the city took place. According to Hawke's information, she frequented the port city armed with a more than adequate contingent of bodyguards prepared to deal with the dangers of the raider-controlled city. Fenris guessed that these bodyguards would not be immune to bribery, however, making his task a little easier. Fortunately, he would not need to wait for long: before he had received Varric's letter, Fenris had been anticipating the noblewoman's arrival, and preparing to make contact. Despite the few days lost to grief and liquor, he would continue with his plan, he decided. Hawke was gone, but he could honour her by working towards their shared goal: that no one else should ever share his torments at the hands of a slave master.
With his course of action decided, Fenris began taking stock of his physical condition. Based on the distinct lack of dirty dishes in the room and the abundance of empty bottles, he guessed he hadn't consumed much of anything but alcohol in the past three days. Accordingly, his head was pounding, and he was extraordinarily hungry, but felt as if eating anything would cause him to vomit again. Making a half-hearted attempt to gather up the bottles on the desk, he gave up and instead fetched his coin purse. It had been considerably lightened, he realized unhappily. The ample coin he had seemingly paid the innkeeper for the liquor would have to be compensation enough for dealing with the squalid state of his room.
Venturing out into the hallway, he made his way to the dining hall. He spotted a few plates of bread, cheese, and some kind of smoked fish laid out on a serving table; it appeared Iva was still serving breakfast. He found her arguing with her husband, waving around a ladle menacingly.
"And what do you suppose I'm to do, Wilfred? Shit some out?"
"That would be the first useful thing that's come out of your arse…"
"We'll get more of the damn cheese when that Francois bloke comes back from Kirkwall, now— yes? Can I help you, messere?"
She scrutinised Fenris from behind the bar, clearly surprised to see him. Hawke would have laughed at their exchange. He smiled wryly.
"My apologies, I didn't mean to interrupt."
Wilfred had fled the threat of the ladle.
"It is no bother, messere, my fool husband's grateful for it, I'm sure." She paused. "How are you… feeling?"
He grimaced. "Not my best, but it will have to do. I have business in the port district today, and my rooms are in… disarray. Could you—"
"I'll send one of the girls over when we're done with breakfast," she interrupted, giving a short nod. "The bread is heavy, that'll help. Anything else you need?"
Iva was an experienced innkeeper, evidently. "No, Iva, that'll be all. I— thank you."
"It is my pleasure, messere."
It certainly wouldn't be the pleasure of the girl who would have to deal with the mess. Fenris took a piece of bread on his way out of the hall and left a silver on the desk once he returned to his room to gather his things. He looked at Hawke's ring for a few moments before slipping it on. He'd have to figure out some way to get it to Bethany. He wondered if she had received Varric's letter yet. No doubt he would have written her as well, though she would be hard to find after being smuggled by Aveline to Nevarra. Felissa's dagger, he tied onto his belt after putting on his armour. Finally, the Blade of Mercy that had angered him so when Felissa had first given it to him, he strapped onto his back. As always, on his way out of the inn, he got strange looks from the other lodgers. Even after three months in Estwatch, people still weren't used to the sight of an extensively tattooed elf with quite a large sword.
After purchasing some potions from Levyn, an apothecary associate of his and Hawke's, Fenris made his way to the southern port district, looking for the Speckled Griffon, the inn where the noblewoman was purportedly staying. He found it by the time the sun was beginning to set. Entering the dining hall, he spotted an armed guard sporting the Thibault crest on her shield standing by the fireplace. He waved over the barkeep and sat in the corner of the room by a window, trying not to wince too much at the smell of the ale. Making eye contact with the guard for long enough eventually prompted her to approach him.
"Listen, elf, I don't know what kind of game you're playing but whatever it is, I'm working, so please fuck off."
Her heavily accented but unconcerned tone betrayed her boredom. He slid a gold coin across the table.
"You may not be interested in what I have to say, but your mistress, Lady Amelianne, might be. If you might be persuaded to pass on a message to her…"
The guard had raised her brow at the mention of her employer's name. She thought about it for a moment, then picked up the coin.
"Alright, I'll bite. Who are you and what do you want?"
"I'm someone who might have some interest in the business your mistress is conducting here. Particularly, I've heard she might be looking for some ways to right past wrongs. I think I may be able to help."
The guard looked at him skeptically.
"She'll know what I mean. As I imagine she will be departing the city soon, I will wait here until midnight. Fetch me if she is willing to meet."
She narrowed her eyes at him, grunted, and walked back to her spot by the fireplace. He had no doubt that she would approach her mistress about his offer after her shift change. It wasn't every day that an ordinary Orlesian bodyguard got to participate in such vague and tantalizing intrigue.
Surely enough, two hours later, when another burly bodyguard wielding a large axe came to relieve her, the guard he had spoken to earlier went to her lady's chambers and emerged again within a few minutes.
"You'll speak to her in her chambers. I'll not be allowing that, though," she said upon approaching his table, gesturing towards his sword.
"Very well."
He followed her to the noblewoman's room in the tavern. Removing his sword and handing it to the guard, he entered the room, noting its size and luxury. Lady Thibault was not that minor of a noble, it appeared.
"My, my, aren't you a curious creature. And the markings! Leontine mentioned, they are simply remarkable! Tell me, how does a fascinating specimen such as yourself find themselves here? With such intimate knowledge of my business here, no less?"
Lady Amelianne Thibault's voice was as sharp as her gaze, and her suspicion of him was palpable. She was dressed simply for an Orlesian noble, and carried a dagger at her hip. He had to resist the urge to strangle her.
"Lady Thibault, the name's Fenris and I believe that I share your concerns about some of the business that the Antivan Crows are conducting in Estwatch. I am aware that you may have some interest in seeing that business concluded. Am I correct?"
She laughed. "Yes, the Crows are right batards. I risk my reputation bringing valuable cargo into Jader, expecting to make a profit, and what do I get instead? Plague, every one of them! If you would see them gone and the cargo I am owed returned to me, I do believe our interests are intertwined. My question is, what is in it for you?"
"They are interfering with my own business. Call it eliminating the competition," Fenris lied. It was all he could do not to spit in disgust. Entire lives meant nothing more to this Orlesian than an investment opportunity.
Lady Thibault shrugged. "Fair enough. But you still have not told me why you have approached me."
"I require information. The location of their base of operations, the names of the ships transporting the cargo, descriptions of their leaders. Better yet, arrange to bring me to your next meeting."
She thought for awhile. "An interesting proposal. I cannot bring you in, but I can tell you where it will be. However, my price is the entirety of the Crows' cargo to do with as I wish."
Fenris agreed to her terms and they shook hands, which Fenris suspected was the first time she had ever touched an elf. She described to him the location of the warehouse where her next meeting was to take place, the following afternoon. Leontine the guard followed him as left the noblewoman's chambers.
"I'll be there tomorrow, elf, in case you screw her. Be warned," she growled as she handed back his sword. He suppressed a dry laugh. As if an Orlesian bodyguard could be any match for him.
It was not yet midnight when Fenris exited the inn. As he would likely require backup for his infiltration of the Antivan Crow slave ring, he decided to stop by a few former associates' homes in the port district on his way back to Iva's inn. Stagio was a Rivaini raider sympathetic to their cause who happened to be an excellent archer. He also welcomed the coin raiding slavers' dens could bring, as they tended to leave valuable documents and weapons lying around. Reja, a casteless dwarf from Orzammar, was as deadly with a sword and shield as she was with a barrel of ale, and he had hired her as a mercenary on previous missions. He found her out-drinking an entire mercenary company in the Rat and Dragon tavern by the stockyards. Lastly, though Fenris still had a healthy amount of distrust for mages, years of working (and arguing) with Hawke had at least allowed him to appreciate having a healer in combat. Thus, he looked for Gideon in his tiny hut in the Little Llomerryn slum, reading a book on Orlesian Chantry history by candlelight. Like another healer Fenris had once known, Gideon's desires for freedom for the mages made him sympathetic to the plight of slaves. He was excellent to have in a fight, as were the rest of their associates. They all agreed to meet Fenris outside of Iva's inn the next morning.
Satisfied with the day's events, Fenris returned to his room in the tavern. He even forgot his misery for a moment as he thought of writing to Felissa in Skyhold. She'll want to know how tomorrow goes, he thought reflexively, and his heart dropped in his chest when he remembered. The tears came again, and he laid motionless in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about her.
Before Felissa left to help the Inquisition, they had been talking about the future, what to do once the Estwatch slavers had been stopped. Hawke had no desire to return to Kirkwall; though Bran, the provisional viscount, had brought some stability to the city, and Aveline remained as the captain of the guard, Hawke wanted to stay hidden. Even though she had killed Anders at the Gallows and the Chantry was no longer hunting her, she had started to want a simpler life. They had talked about buying a little house in Amaranthine, as the city had enjoyed reasonable stability in the years after the Blight, and Hawke was, after all, a Fereldan. Fenris had been torn, and it had led to many an argument: he wanted to continue to hunt down slavers. Now, the hypothetical cottage in Amaranthine was impossible, and yet he ached for it. There, he contemplated sleepily, Hawke would have been safe, and they would have had a life that he hadn't dared to imagine while he still served Danarius…
He was in his mansion in Hightown, and there was a book in front of him.
"Come on, Fenris, just one more sentence, don't you want to know how Shartan first met Andraste?"
"Vishante kaffas, woman, I'll toss this whole damn book in the fire!"
She gave him a sly smile from across the table. "Perhaps you need a different kind of encouragement."
He chuckled and then sighed. She was so beautiful. "Perhaps. A bottle of some Tevinter swill might do, in this case."
The wine was in the adjacent room. He picked out one of the less detestable varieties and walked back into what looked like Varric's chambers in the Hanged Man to the sound of Felissa's laughter. The bed and the fireplace had been moved around, though, and unfamiliar banners hung on the walls. She sat in a plush armchair playing cards at a table with Varric.
"Cheater!" she objected, "You've been hiding that card all game, I saw you!"
"Now look, Hawke, if you're gonna be a sore loser, you might as well… catch me cheating with the right card!" Varric said triumphantly as he pulled a knight from his sleeve. Hawke's cry of indignation quickly turned to laughter. They started another game.
"So, Hawke, how's that Fenris of yours doing? I'm surprised he's not here in Skyhold, guarding the entrance to our highly exclusive game of Diamondback…"
Fenris furrowed his brow. This wasn't the Hanged Man, then.
Hawke smiled. "You know Fenris, broody as always. We're working on something big in Estwatch right now. From his last letter, things are going well." She sobered for a moment. "He'd never tell me, but I hope he isn't too lonely. Little Llomerryn isn't exactly the friendliest of cities."
"Well, as long as you're happy, Hawke," Varric said with a thoughtful grin.
She looked off into the fire. "I am."
Tears pooled in Fenris' eyes. He reached to wipe them away and suddenly he was shivering in a snowy alleyway, facing the door of a hovel. Lifting his hand to knock, he decided against it and pulled on the handle instead. It was a modest home; three plates were set on the simple dining table, and a door led to what Fenris assumed was a bedroom. A woman stood with her back to him, stirring the contents of a pot on the hearth.
"Sister?" The woman was Bethany. "The stew is almost done. Do you need any help?"
"No, that's alright, I'm just dealing with yet another shit-related incident," a slightly harried Felissa responded from behind the door. "We won't be a moment."
The door opened and Felissa emerged, washcloth in hand. She looked older, a few unfamiliar creases in her forehead.
"Phew, another disaster averted. Isn't that right, Lea? I swear, the sixth Blight's going start right here in your nappy..."
Suddenly, Fenris couldn't peel his eyes away from the child on her hip. The beautiful, elf-blooded child…
Then, Hawke locked eyes with him. The surroundings melted away and she was alone.
She reached out to him. "Fenris? Fenris, you have to help me, I—"
He awoke in a cold sweat, face wet with tears. He wept not because of the dream, but because of the waking. What cruel tricks his subconscious played on him, showing him a future he never knew he wanted, and now could never have. He looked out the window. It was daybreak. The others would be waiting for him soon.