author's note: Not much to say about this chapter, except that my idea of Astrid's robes is partially based on the Fugitive's Mantle from Da2, incase anyone is like me and needs a bit of a visual. Otherwise enjoy, this was originally part of the prior chapter, but decided to make it its own.

SYMPATHIES

Coming from a meeting with Viscount Dumar himself, Hawke was happily taking the steps two at a time. Following behind was his 'trusty' dwarf and his surprisingly willing cousin. Of course, the latter two were not admitted into the Viscount's office and instead waited in the lobby, making fun of the nobles. They didn't bring the topic of her scars up again after that night in The Hanged Man, and Astrid was finally letting Hawke invite her around. She had aided in several fights against gangs that attacked at night, and in return her cousin didn't ask about the random mercenary attacks on her.

"Mother is going to be very happy," Hawke exclaimed, beaming at the Viscount's letter he carried. They were heading to the Amell Estate, where Lady Leandra was already sprucing the mansion into a home. Astrid had yet to meet her and was becoming wary the closer they got. Her cousin noticed the hesitation in her step, for she was falling further behind. "You're welcome to stay with us Astrid," he suggested, but he knew the answer.

She stopped short of where Hightown's estates were aligned in all their regality and floral, unsure herself. "I think I'll go meet Isabela at The Hanged Man actually," Astrid was lying, fully intending to go to the coast and this Varric immediately hinted at.

"Really? I hear the weather at the Wounded Coast is nice this time of year," the dwarf smirked as he spoke, catching a narrowed look from the mage.

"There's always room for you here if you change your mind," Hawke answered, deciding not to pay attention to Varric's remark.

Astrid bid the duo farewell and made haste to her camp. There were two reasons why she remained at the Wounded Coast, the first being she hoped the Relic would wash ashore any day now, and secondly she could see who was coming into the city. That reason alone had saved her on many occasions now. It was becoming evident that the man hunting her down was no longer in Seheron, and his influence was strong yet. Astrid often wondered if Ser Royce had his bloody hands on her phylactery, but seeing that he hadn't come to Kirkwall directly, it was safe to assume he did not—at least not yet. The mage always regretted not going back for it, but that would have been a fool's errand. She would have never made it out of Denerim alive.

The sun was just setting as she stepped into the outskirts of Kirkwall, towards the storming coast. It was raining softly, welcomed weather after the last few seething nights. Astrid turned her face to the sky, allowing the rain to roll down her cheeks and over her closed eyelids. One of the few pleasures of being an apostate was enjoying nature up close and personal, not behind a barred window that her arm barely fit through. While aboard the Siren's Call, Astrid discovered her love of standing in the rain and the wind against her face. She had caught many colds from doing so, but every one of them was worth it. Her next desire from nature was snow, but not even Kirkwall's mountains were touched with such cold weather. The mage would have to wait for another time.

She had walked this path many times and every time it was vacant, but something was amiss this time. The overwhelming dread of being followed snapped her out of the moment. Astrid barely had a second to dodge the blade, tripping over her own two feet at the same time. She began the panic of crawling backwards as her attacker continued to grab at her. The fact he was only trying to injure her was immediately a bad sign. The mage kicked him in the chest as he lunged for her, hoping to knock him back. She rolled back on her feet and turned around with her own sword drawn, but froze in mid swing. The man never completed his fall and instead stood gurgling, blood spurting from his mouth, and a hand ghosting through his chest—the man's heart in its fist.

The fist was yanked back and the man collapsed with a bubbling of blood at his mouth, falling on his face. Astrid didn't hesitate on the body. She stepped back, ready for a more dangerous foe and fell still again.

"Venhedis," her savior hissed, glaring at her, "Do you know how long they were following you?"

Astrid saw more bodies and blood on the path she had just taken. How could she be so oblivious? Even more confounding was the man whom saved her: Fenris. He didn't appear at all pleased that he had to intervene and was still swearing angrily under his breath as he began searching the corpses. His snowy hair and tanned skin was spotted with blood, both dry and wet. Clearly the elf had some similar encounters earlier in his day. She watched him go from one body to the other, emptying their pockets and taking their coin. A few letters or notes were found and he read them all, tossing them in a ball of fury one after another. Fenris looked at her as he scavenged the man that attacked her, glaring still.

"This is no place for a woman to be strolling through alone," he voiced.

"Nor anyone else," she countered, putting her sword away, "May I ask what brings you of all people out here?"

Fenris scoffed and stood back up, handing her a folded piece of paper. "They were after you," he went on to say, ignoring her question. Astrid took the note and read through it quickly, only a little relieved to learn they hadn't confirmed their findings with her hunter yet. It would only be a matter of time now. "Clearly they're not templars," the elf commented, very aware that she was a mage, "but they aren't the type that's been coming after Isabela either." He looked at her, suspicious as always, "these are highly skilled mercenaries." Fenris would know.

He turned towards the mage, fully prepared to berate her for potentially endangering everyone with her "mage problems". From the moment they had been made acquaintances, Fenris knew the woman would be an inconvenience. She was an apostate, and therefore already on his bad side, but now she was undoubtedly a fugitive of some kind. He wasn't about to let his friends be mystified by her. Fenris conjured a scowl as he lifted his head, but not a word could be said. When he looked at her, he saw the painfully familiar look of fear across her brow. It was almost like looking into a mirror. Did he have something in common with this mage? The elf cleared his throat and looked away, instead inquiring about another matter. "Answer me this woman. I have no doubt of you being an apostate, but I have never once seen you use magic in these months I've known you. Why is that?"

Astrid was surprised by the subtle politeness in his voice and allowed herself to be distracted from the scribble in her hands. "I hate mages," she said plainly.

This caught Fenris by surprise and there was a fluctuation in his brood for a second, before it was replaced with curiosity. "You said those scars were given to you by mages..." he muttered, knowing the topic was made off-limits by a recent speech from Isabela, but for some reason he had to know.

"They were," she seethed, crumbling the letter in her grip.

He gazed at Astrid with mixed emotions and very confused of his opinion of her now. Averting his mossy green eye, he looked out into the distance. "I was looking for someone," Fenris said, answering her former question, "It appears as if they were only rumors though." He finally met her eyes, recognizing the fear glossed over them, "a while ago I decided to stop running from my former slave master—a mage." The elf paused and remembered his former life for a moment. "I do not know who you run from or why, but as long as you remain important to Hawke, I will aid you should more of these men appear."

The mage waited for his words to sink in, unsure how to respond to the sudden and obscure hospitality he offered. Fenris wasn't exactly a friend, and any sort of lesser relationship was nonexistent. Astrid pondered a moment longer then finally gave her reply. "What will you do when you find this mage?" she asked in all seriousness, finally shredding the letter to ribbons.

Fenris reported without hesitation, "I will kill him."

She held the pieces of paper to the wind and watched them blow away, "Me too." Her voice was cold and sharp, "I'll burn the other side of his face first."

After that, Astrid didn't feel like being alone, so she followed Fenris back into the city. They didn't say anything more to one another and parted ways once they reached the Gallows, but the mage knew she had acquired some sort of sympathy from him. She watched as he disappeared towards Lowtown, where everyone was probably already gathered for a game of cards at the tavern. It was a funny feeling she had, not wanting to be alone, yet not wanting to be with anyone. So, she resorted to sitting on the steps that lead further into the city and started worrying about Ser Royce.

You do remember it wasn't a fire spell you used my dear?

Astrid closed her eyes. She was so exhausted, she could almost see him. Envy and his always alluring smirk.

Surely you'll want to do much worst once we see him...

He was right. There were many horrendous things she wanted to inflict upon that man, revenge for all the apprentices he laid hands on, but that would be submitting to the demon. Envy immediately picked up on her thought and chuckled, not failing to remind her of her own undoing.

We did make a deal my dear.

Envy made the last snide remark and then retired his pestering for the night.

"Why here," she whispered sadly, "Why tell me to come here Mathias?"