Summary: Fenris and his companions flee Estwatch, with the help of an old friend. He lands in an unfamiliar place. NSFW warning for a short scene in this chapter.

It was nightfall by the time that Fenris returned to his room in the inn. It wouldn't be long, now – he had been rash in his decision to slaughter the Orlesian and her guard. No doubt their group had been spotted by a Crow guard, too, while they were leaving – Fenris wasn't exactly inconspicuous. Someone would be coming for him. For his companions, too, but he couldn't worry about them now.

Still, as he hastily threw some clothing and potions into his knapsack, he couldn't help but wonder as to the fate of the slaves they had tried to free. At first, he had thought that a rival slaver group, perhaps Tevinter in origin, had stolen the slaves where they had found the immobilized Crow; however, the note they had found by the sewer entrance seemed to indicate otherwise. True, it could have been written under duress, but why bother write anything at all if it was insincere? Furthermore, who or what would inspire such immediate trust from the elves such that they would truly believe themselves safe?

He ran his hand through his hair. There was likely precious little time left. He had to move.

His fingers lingered on a white tunic that had belonged to Hawke. He carefully folded it and laid it gently in the knapsack. She had lain in it often, reading a book or writing in her journal, in her own bed at the Amell estate, or in his, or in this one. He wished bitterly that he had her journal – it had accompanied her to Skyhold and doubtlessly perished with her in the Fade. Perhaps he would write back to Varric and ask about it. What he did have, were Felissa's letters, exactly two, one of which she had sent from Amaranthine after her ship docked, and the other she had penned in her room in Skyhold. The pages were supple and weathered from repeated readings. These, too, he folded gingerly and placed in the bag, along with a map from the desk and some notes he had taken during his time there.

Glancing around the room to make sure he hadn't missed anything essential, Fenris closed his pack and slung it over his shoulder. Strapping his sword to his back, he wedged open his window and, Hawke's ring on his finger and her dagger at his hip, jumped down into the alley below. He had paid Iva in advance in anticipation of such a situation. He would miss her cooking.

His destination was the western docks. With enough coin, one could purchase passage to any major port city on the Waking Sea; he would see what ship was leaving the soonest and go wherever it took him. He followed the narrow alley, lined with little balconies and sparsely lit with glowing lanterns, until he emerged onto a main road. Crossing it quickly, with several furtive glances behind him, he continued into another alley, this one with no lighting at all. Buildings, bleached white where the moonlight hit them, fell ominously into complete darkness, where the moon was blocked. It was into these shadows that Fenris now melted, hastening his pace.

It was an unusually quiet and warm night for Little Llomerryn. At this time, sailors and raiders would usually be swaggering down the alleys Fenris walked hurriedly through, heavy with food and drink, laughing heartily or arguing amongst themselves. Tonight, though, there was little sound, except for the occasional ruffling of seagull wings, the closing of a window. Even the sea wind, usually vicious in the port city, had calmed somewhat. Fenris would have welcomed the opportunity to hear the approach of a pursuer, if not for the fact that he had never been much for sneaking around himself, and the noise from his armour alone disturbed the stillness significantly. Still, he crept along, taking care not to scrape his sword against the stuccoed walls of the alley.

Some time later, he became aware of evenly spaced footsteps somewhere behind him. A calculatedly casual glance behind him yielded nothing but a short pause in the person's pace; he did not see or hear anything else. They were either following him to see his destination, or being careful before attacking, he deduced. In either event, he wouldn't make it easy for them.

Turning a corner, he suddenly broke into a full-on sprint until he heard steps behind him in the street. He stopped abruptly and turned around, catching a glimpse of a hooded figure in the distance as they grabbed a supporting beam on the underside of a balcony and jumped up to the railing. His pursuer then climbed up onto the roof, seemingly effortlessly, and paused to stare at him, as if daring him to follow them.

"Shit," he cursed. An enemy on higher ground, especially one he couldn't see, was just that much deadlier. He hadn't seen a bow, but a well-aimed shot from above could cause serious damage.

Continuing, still on the ground for now, in the direction of the western docks, he felt the sweat beading on his forehead, stinging his eyes. He could hear nothing of his pursuer, now. The alleyway he rushed through was now periodically lit with braziers, which cast warm light that blended with the cool glare of the moon. Fenris' quick steps scared away a cat previously asleep in a doorway – he was nearing the docks, a better trafficked area.

Suddenly, he felt the breeze of an arrow whistle past his left ear. Still running, Fenris whipped his head to look back, and saw the hooded figure running on the roof alongside him. It was a young elf woman, he realized, and her bow looked Dalish in make. So, the Crows were hiring Dalish now? How strange…

She was gaining on him, more fleetfooted in her cloak than he in his plate armour. Cursing his luck, Fenris saw no alternative than to ram his shoulder directly into the next doorway he saw. This earned him a terrified shriek from the home's occupant, a rather pretty young woman whose holey tunic and needle and thread dropped from her hands as soon as he barreled through.

"Sorry," he said, "You have an upstairs?"

Wide-eyed, she nodded. "P-please, don't hurt us."

Fenris instructed hurriedly, "Lock the door and stay here," as he ran up the stairs to the second floor, past two bedrooms, and out onto a balcony. He glanced back in time to witness an angry, scarred older man in a billowy linen nightgown yelling at him in Rivaini; he couldn't help but laugh as he jumped to the next door balcony and climbed to the roof. Even raiders had to settle down eventually, apparently.

Another arrow whipped past him once he was on the shingled roof. She was notching another arrow on the roof across the alley from him as he broke away, running as fast as he possibly could. The assault of arrows was relentless now, and she was a good shot, barely missing at times, but he had avoided his fair share of arrows (and magic surges, and Bianca's bolts when Varric's aim went awry). The arrows stopped coming after he got sufficiently far away. Almost there, he thought.

The roof he was on ended at another large street. Hopping down onto a low shed, and then to street level, Fenris glanced behind him as he ran across the street and towards the docks. No sign of the hooded elf. An unfriendly-looking group of hardened raiders sat on a few crates at the entrance to the docks, taking turns to take swigs of a darkly-coloured liquid from a glass bottle. One of them put their hand on her sword as he strode up to them.

"You looking for trouble, elf?" she growled, narrowing her eyes at him and spitting on the ground.

He gestured to the coin pouch on his hip. "There's a sovereign here for you if you can tell me which ship leaves Estwatch next."

She scoffed. "And what's stopping us from slitting your throat and taking all of your little sovereigns?"

"I think you'd find that rather difficult," he said, raising a brow and reaching for the hilt of his sword. He doubted they had ever seen an elf with a blade as large.

"Relax, Quinta," muttered one of the other raiders, bottle in hand. Fenris took his hand off his blade. "It's the Siren's Revenge, moored at the end over there." He waved his hand into the darkness. "You'd be better off waiting for the next one, though, the Siren's captain isn't likely to take passengers."

With a hint of a smile, Fenris reached into his pouch and threw the man a sovereign in one fluid motion. "I think she might make an exception this time." It seemed his luck wasn't so bad, after all.

The raider caught it and Fenris walked past them towards the last dock. A guard glowered at him as he approached the ship but he simply said, "Tell her it's Fenris," and strode onto the walkway to board the ship. The guard scurried past him to the captain's quarters on the main deck of the ship and Fenris followed closely enough to see him knock timidly on the door, which burst open after a few moments to reveal a slightly more scantily-clad than usual Isabela. She had started to ream out the poor guard for interrupting when she noticed Fenris standing behind him.

"Oh my, what have we here? Really, Fenris, we're in the same city for months and you never come to call on little old me? I swear, I go out of my way to get you in Estwatch and never hear from you again." He barely believed it, but she almost sounded hurt.

"Missed me?"

Isabela scowled. "In all my travels, I've never met anyone who broods quite as effectively as you." To his surprise, she strode up and embraced him. "So, yes. Come on, let's catch up. I'm sure I can dig up an old bottle of Tevinter red for you in here somewhere," she said, waving at her door.

He followed her into the well-lit quarters. The sight of a luxurious, somewhat in disarray bed greeted him, along with a good-looking blonde woman sitting on it, wearing even less clothing than Isabela. He raised his brow at the latter, who laughed. "Oh, that's Merlinda," Isabela said, and spotting from Merlinda what Fenris imagined was a jealous look, called out to her. "Don't worry, love, he's not here for that. An old friend, from Kirkwall. Speaking of which, why did you decide to drop by, and in the middle of the night, no less?"

Fenris settled into one of two armchairs in a corner. Isabela dug around in a chest by the bed, pausing to give Merlinda a squeeze. She found what she was looking for: a dusty bottle and a glass. Setting them on a table between the armchairs, she opened the bottle and poured some wine into the glass. Fenris took a sip from the glass as she sat down and brought the bottle directly to her lips, taking a large swig.

"I need to get out of Estwatch. My business is concluded, but not everyone involved is particularly happy about it."

She nodded understandingly. "What about Hawke? Is she staying in Little Llomerryn, then?"

His heart dropped. "She's… not here."

Oblivious to his grief, Isabela chuckled and took another mouthful of the wine. "Yes, I can see that, you mean not in Estwatch? Where did she go? I ought to give her a real tongue-lashing for never coming to see me while she was here, though she might enjoy that a bit too much, if you know what I mean…"

Fenris turned away, covering his face with his hands. "She's not anywhere, Isabela. She's gone. Died helping the Inquisitor."

Isabela said nothing at first. He glanced back at her and saw that the colour had drained from her cheeks, her usually tanned face turning sallow. Shaking, she poured the rest of the bottle into his glass.

"We're going to need more wine," she said quietly, and went into a side room. Merlinda had fled, apparently; where to, he could not tell. Fenris was left alone, playing with Felissa's ring on his finger, thinking about her, her toothy grin, her contagious laugh, her unruly hair splayed on his bare chest, tickling his nose. The sound of Isabela setting down a new flagon startled him out of his reverie. He looked up to see a candle, and a curious miniature of a ship, contained entirely within a bottle, on the table, as well as an additional glass. Reaching into her pocket for some matches, Isabela lit the candle and sat down, staring intently at the flame.

"In Rivain," she began, "when a person dies, we light a candle and stay awake by their side until they're burned." She paused, lost in thought. "I lose a man out at sea, we don't burn the body. Ships being made of wood and all that. But the crew stays with the body until morning. We tell stories. A vigil, so to speak."

Fenris drained his glass. Isabela sighed.

"What happened, Fenris? I can't believe it, she always seemed so—"

"—invincible, yes," he finished for her, and told her what Varric had written. A heroic death, if horrific, at the hands of a Fade demon. If any comfort could be gleaned from the manner of Hawke's passing, Isabela was certainly not the one to do it, if her dismayed face was any indication.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both watching the wax of the candle drip down the sides.

"Maker, she was funny, though," Isabela remarked suddenly, not looking at him. "Lethal with those daggers, too. I bet my whole damn ship that she tore whatever horrible thing killed her a new one, in more ways than one."

"Indeed," he agreed, half smiling. "Probably complained the whole time about how ugly Fade demons are."

Isabela laughed. "Or about how she always has to do all the work. You know, one time, we were having a drink at the Hanged Man, and some drunken lout took it upon himself to cop a feel. She had him in tears in minutes. Something about him looking like he'd never touched a woman in his life…"

"Better than what I would have done," muttered Fenris sourly.

"Lucky for him, you were off skulking somewhere, and he lived to tell the tale. Though I doubt he likes to," she grinned.

They finished their drinks. Isabela played idly with the boat in a bottle.

"She taught me how to read," Fenris said quietly. "She found me a story about Shartan, she thought I'd like it. Instead, I got angry. There were many times that I was… less than worthy. And yet, Felissa was always patient."

"She thought highly of you," Isabela suggested, cupping her chin in her hand.

Fenris sighed. "Yes. It made me want to prove her right."

"You know," she said, laying the enchanted ship back on the table, "she gave me this. Soon after we met. No one had ever given me anything just because, not without expecting something in return, not really. But Hawke was just like that. In a world full of smart-mouthed assholes, she was the only one that was kind, too."

"I didn't know that," Fenris murmured, laying a hand on the cool glass. He wished desperately for their little room in Iva's inn, or for Hawke's quarters in the Amell mansion, or for his four-poster bed in Danarius' mansion.

They spent the rest of the evening in a similar fashion, telling stories about Felissa, reminiscing about their time in Kirkwall, catching up. He told her about the operation he had shut down. Together, they puzzled over who might have liberated the elves while Fenris and his friends had been busy entertaining the Orlesian and the Crows.

"There's no way it was just one of the Crows? You know," Isabela mentioned, "I didn't think I was going to let those slaves go until I did. Maybe someone had a change of heart."

"If there's a mage among the Crows powerful enough to send a man to the Fade, the nations of Thedas should tremble," Fenris countered. "I don't know."

"I hope they're alright," offered Isabela, to a smile from Fenris.

"Me, too."

She agreed to take him with her to Cumberland, which was where her ship was heading off to in the morning. Drinking with Isabela felt as if he were stealing a tiny moment back from the past. Every once in awhile, he could imagine that Hawke was just around the corner looking for a bottle of her favourite honey mead, that the next morning they would all be going off to Sundermount to rescue the daughter of some noble or other, and that Varric was just in the next room telling anyone who would listen that Hawke had fought seven dragons simultaneously and won. Fenris had forgotten how good it felt to be with someone who had known him for a long time. Still, the rocking of the ship served as a reminder that everything had changed.

Eventually, they were drunk. Less so than a few nights ago, for Fenris at least, but his vision was swimming and he doubted he would be able to get up without stumbling. His armour had come off at some point, and he found himself staring idly at Isabela's exposed, silky thigh while she rambled about some member of her crew, thinking about how nice it would be to be touched. She must have read his mind, because suddenly Isabela was sitting squarely on his lap, and his hands on her waist and tearing desperately at her clothing. He stood up, and they nearly fell down as the alcohol buckled both their knees. Nevertheless, Fenris managed to trip his way over to the bed, and Isabela, hanging on to his arm as if for dear life, followed suit. He pushed her onto the covers, still messy from her goings-on with Merlinda; now, Isabela was removing his tunic – he caught a surprised look of delight as she spied the intricate lyrium markings on his flesh. Ignoring her fascination, Fenris roughly flipped her around and pulled down the waist of his trousers. And then he was inside of her.

It felt nothing like what it had been like with Felissa. He realized that he was watching himself, as if from above, and he cringed at the sight and closed his eyes; perhaps that would help. All that came into his mind's eye, however, were images of Felissa: laughing, arguing, reading… holding a baby on her hip… He tried to think of making love to her, what it had felt like, but it was too painful, too far removed from what was happening now. Soon, he stopped entirely, pushed Isabela away, and hiked back up his trousers, rolling over to turn his back to Isabela.

"I—I can't," he stammered, unable to face her. "I'm sorry."

Isabela, the mistress of innuendos, of dirty jokes, and, at times it had seemed, of sex itself, for once said nothing about what they had done. He felt the bed shift as she got up quietly, receding, erratic footsteps followed by the opening and closing of the door.

Fenris felt as if a chasm was opening in the pit of his stomach, threatening to pull his entire body through. Vision still blurry, he noticed a mirror hanging across from where he lay on his side: knees to his chest, his entire body was shaking, and the shadows under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept in weeks. The shame he felt was all-encompassing: he had betrayed Felissa, and for what? Any pleasure he might have felt had been marred by the knowledge that the woman he truly craved was gone forever.

The door to Isabela's room creaked open, and she crept inside. Fenris sat up reluctantly but didn't look at her.

"I'm afraid I don't have any guest rooms on my ship but there's bunk for you in the hold. Don't worry," she said quietly, "my men won't bother you."

Fenris finally met her gaze. She had a pitying look on her face and was watching him carefully.

"I'm sorry," he said again, and got up, accepting her implicit invitation to leave. As he passed her, she put a hand gingerly on his shoulder; he flinched from her touch and she withdrew it.

"It's alright. We'll talk in the morning," she said reassuringly, and closed the door behind him.

He slunk down into the hold to find rows of bunk beds, and a dozen or two sailors in various states of slumbering, playing cards, and drinking. One of the sailors, a hulking Qunari with a large scar in his chest that looked as if someone had attacked him with a cleaver, gestured towards what Fenris assumed was to be his bunk. He clambered onto it and cursed himself for having left his belongings, including the pack that had miraculously survived the chase earlier, in Isabela's quarters, though they were likely safer there. The hollow feeling in his chest expanding, he soon fell into a fitful sleep.

Fenris was startled awake at what seemed like the crack of dawn, judging from his exhaustion, by the Qunari sailor shaking his shoulder, not unkindly, and telling him that he was wanted in the captain's quarters. Sitting up, he groaned at the headache that pounded behind his eyes, although at this point, he supposed he should get used to it. He had dreamed of Felissa again, though not as vividly as before: this time, he had been a wolfling, racing through the Seheron jungle, with someone, or something, on his tail. He heard howls in the distance – friendly or not, he could not tell. Suddenly, the jungle had been swallowed up by a darkness that filled him with dread, and a massive abomination rose out of it, covered in swathes of ropy mucus, roaring in his face. Just when the monster was about to take him, Felissa appeared, brandishing her daggers, and leapt, screaming, directly into the creature's mouth. Fenris had awoken in a cold sweat and wasn't able to fall back asleep for some time, listening to the snores of the sailors around him.

Now, he was back in the armchair where he had gotten so intoxicated the night before, watching Isabela go over some ledgers. At his appearance at her door, she had greeted him relatively warmly before offering him a drink, which he quickly declined.

Still poring over the papers, Isabela announced, "I've got business in Cumberland for a few weeks. It's a few day's sail if the weather holds up. I don't know what you plan to do once we get there, but my crew could always use someone of your particular talents. Think about it."

Fenris cleared his throat awkwardly and ventured, "About last night—"

Isabela surprised him with a cynical laugh. "You think I've never tried to get over a dead lover by rutting with someone else before? Fenris, my dear, though this is certainly not the way I would have liked to find out what colour your underthings are, don't think I don't know about the dangerous combination of grief and wine. Besides," she added somberly, "we weren't exactly thinking straight."

No, they had not been. Though the hollow feeling in his chest remained, Isabela's words comforted Fenris somewhat. With a candour that surprised even himself, he said quietly, "I feel as if I have betrayed her."

For the first time since he came in, Isabela paused her skimming and looked at him with a critical eye, hand on her hip.

"Perhaps we both did. If it makes you feel any better, it would have never happened if Felissa were alive, and since she isn't, well, no harm done, right?"

Deeply unsatisfied by her answer, he left her chambers and spent the voyage to Cumberland keeping out of the way of the pirates and their duties, sulking in various abandoned corners of the vessel. At some point, he caught the sailors playing a game of diamondback, idly reminiscing about playing the game with Donnic in the Hightown mansion. True to her word, Isabela's men didn't bother him, or even seem to notice him lurking around, although he did get a few stares from some of the younger ones. He even stood at the bow, watching as the mighty vessel cut through the waves of the azure Waking Sea, saltwater spraying his face. All of Fenris' previous experiences at sea had been harrowing tests of loyalty and usefulness for Danarius. Now, in the moments where he wasn't haunted by thoughts of Hawke, he found himself reluctantly enjoying doing nothing, if only for a few days.

He didn't see Isabela much for the duration of the trip, which he was grateful for. He was having difficulty mulling over his jumbled thoughts about the night of their reunion. She was right, in a way: they were old friends who had at one point or another been attracted to each other, reunited after many years apart, mourning the death of a lover and friend… it had been likely, at the very least. Most importantly, it didn't really matter, because though he didn't know what he would do once in Nevarra, he had no intention of staying with Isabela and her crew. She reminded him too much of a past that was now painful.

The nights, he mostly spent lying awake, staring at the planks above him. He actively dreaded falling asleep, now too guilt-ridden to crave Hawke's appearances, and so would spend time above deck, re-reading her letters in the moonlight. Still, when he did sleep, she was always there in his dreams, either somewhere far away across the Fade, where he couldn't reach her, or appearing to save him from something at the last moment, when he thought all was lost.

On the morning of the fifth day, he arose later than usual, and venturing out onto the deck, observed with pleasure that they were approaching a city. The great golden domes of the enormous Cumberland shimmered in the distance, the largest being the College of Enchanters. He could see it even from the water, the white marble of the palace seeming to glow in the morning sun. Guarding the entrance to the port was a bronze statue, taller than the main mast of the Siren's Revenge, of some Nevarran lord or other, his hand outstretched as if to stop unwelcome visitors. Docked at the port were more ships than Fenris had ever seen in Minrathous, with still more anchored in the waters outside. Obviously, the success of Nevarra's major port in trading with the rest of southern Thedas was not to be understated.

Fenris remained on the deck until they made port somewhere in the vast maze of docks. After running into the hold to assemble his belongings, he stepped off the ship, armed, armoured, and with his pack o his shoulder, and was accosted by the utter chaos. Lines of sailors were unloading cargo from ships, smells emanated from food vendors selling their wares right on the docks, a flurry of languages were being shouted: common, Orlesian, Rivaini, Fenris even caught an earful of Qunlat. He stood, back to the bridge off the ship, and took it all in. Yes, it had been a long time since he had been in a city like this, a proper city.

A brisk tap on his armoured shoulder roused him from his trance. It was Isabela. He turned to her.

"So, this is it, then, old friend?" she casually began.

"So it would seem, yes," he replied sardonically.

She smiled. "Listen, Fenris, if you ever want to… write me, or anything, you can send it to the Blooming Rose in Kirkwall. I check back there fairly often when I'm in town."

He snorted. "I imagine you wouldn't miss it for the world."

A wicked gleam in her eye, she winked. "Imagine all you like, my dear."

His facial expression fell, and she quickly added, "I jest, Fenris. Just... don't let the next thing I hear about you be a letter from Varric, alright?"

Fenris squirmed uncomfortably. He wasn't sure he would be able to pick up a quill and write anyone, let alone Isabela, after what had happened between them. Still, he nodded. "Thank you for everything, Isabela."

"Take care of yourself, Fenris."

He smiled. Felissa would have told him the same. "I will," Fenris said quietly, and walked away.