Four years had passed since Fenris had turned and watched the faint outline of Hawke fade into the distance, flanked by Hadriana and her body guards. He had half expected her to do... something. But she stood silent, vigilant, just watching them walk away.
Leaving her to a fate Fenris wouldn't have wished even on Anders.
But she simply watched, and as the gates closed and she was finally taken from view, Fenris felt the first bitter claws of fear twisting in his gut.
She'd helped him twice now, fought beside him as the slavers snapped at his heels, charged with him into the abandoned manor to attack Danarius without fear for her safety. A mage herself, and she raised her staff against a Magister.
And he let her walk into the chains in his place? He was no better than the weak, cowardly hunters Danarius had sent after him in the first place.
But despite his regrets and bitterness, time had kept spinning without Moira. With some assistance from Fenris, Sebastian had managed to quell the slowly seething and bitter Qunari. He returned their relic and the thief who had stolen it in the first place, allowing them to return to Par Vollen before tensions could rise higher.
They slowly lost contact with Aveline; her new life with Donnic and as Guard-captain kept her busy. And honestly, she didn't want to be further involved with the shadowy underbelly of Kirkwall. Not without Hawke there to smile and remind her that sometimes you had to bend the rules to uphold the Right Thing.
There was too much of a rift between Anders' beliefs and what Sebastian thought was right. Once he learned of Moira's sacrifice, it seemed to shred any common ground they could have shared and he left the group without a word and without a look. He blamed Sebastian for what Moira had done, and he held that grudge close to his heart like it was the last smoldering heat in a now frigid world.
Anders cared for Leandra while her daughter was gone, keeping the secret as Moira wanted until her Mother's passing last year. The strain had been too much, he'd told Varric, and like a bird whom lost its mate she simply gave up.
The entire ordeal seemed to shake Merrill, not that she'd been terribly stable to begin with. Moira's absence, how she had been taken... seemed to pull the elf further into her seclusion. She dove into her experiments and research around that dark mirror, as if it held the secret to Moira's freedom just below its cracked surface. If not for Varric looking after her well-being, she would probably have starved a long time ago.
Varric... He was the one constant, the one connection they all shared. Which, honestly, was the only reason why Fenris was standing in the doorway of the Hanged Man to begin with. Varric had sent him a message, and he'd come. Whether it was nostalgia that drew him, or some instinct he didn't have words or names for, he didn't know. Maker knows he didn't owe the dwarf anything after all these years. They'd rarely spoken since Moira had gone.
Strange how the woman seemed to be the glue that held her 'merry band of misfits' together.
It was still early in the afternoon, though it was never too early for a drink and a game at the Hanged Man. He knew without opening the door where Varric would be sitting, or standing as he regaled the crowd with more otherwise emphasized stories of Sebastian's exploits. The dwarf was as predictable as he was vulgar.
He'd expected to find him in his usual place in the far corner, visible from the door and the most prominent area of the tavern, but Varric was nowhere to be seen. Maybe Fenris had been mistaken about the time, or Varric had left without him? He was about to turn when the barmaid stopped him and told him he was waiting in a back room with his other guests.
Fenris hesitated at the door, suspicious of the secrecy, the cloak and dagger nature of this entire affair. Why was he here? Surely the dwarf had better contacts for whatever job he had lined up...
But it was the specter of Hawke that whispered in his ear, urging him on.
You don't abandon friends.
With an inward sigh, he pushed open the door to Varric's somewhat permanent room and stepped inside.
"Well, well. I'm surprised you've stayed around for so long."
That was a voice Fenris had never expected to hear again, not after her departure with the Qunari.
"Isabela. I'd thought you would have taken residence in Par Vollen by now."
The Pirate Queen smiled just a bit before taking another long swallow from a bottle of something far richer than the Hanged Man could afford. She looked quite relaxed, reclining in the wooden chair with her long, long legs kicked up on the table. For someone that had been forcibly taken by an otherwise hostile people, Isabela looked none the worse for wear.
"What can I say. They were awful sticks in the mud. No sense of humor. Or of adventure. When I jumped from their ship they simply let me go." She gently swirled the bottle and held it up to the light as if checking how much remained. "How's Kitten?"
"How should I know what that blood mage is up to?" Fenris replied sourly. "I'm more curious what you're doing back."
"You've been watching over her, for Hawke." Isabela smirked, putting her booted feet back to the ground and sitting in the chair as she was meant to. "I haven't seen you for four years, and you're still a terrible liar. If I wouldn't make a killing playing Wicked Grace, I'd even give you a few hints about your tell."
With an exasperated sigh, Fenris leaned forward and snatched the bottle from her hands. Aggregio Pavali. How had he'd known? "It doesn't matter anymore, does it?"
"You're still no fun, either." She muttered, leaning back and reaching for the tankard on the table.
"What are you doing here, Isabela?"
She ignored him, taking a moment to savor the Hanged Man's signature swill as if it was a century-old bottle of wine.
"Well?" Fenris was getting frustrated now, in no mood for the pirate's antics. Where in the blighted hell was Varric, anyway? Why had he been called?
"I promised our host I wouldn't say anything until he returned. I suspect he's collecting... what was his nickname, again? Broody? … no, that was you. Blondie! I imagine he's collecting Blondie."
The elf began to stand. "Whatever Varric has planned, he obviously does not require my assistance if he's including that creature."
"Fenris, wait." Isabela grabbed his arm as he passed, trapping him with a suddenly serious, intent gaze. He glared down at her hand until she hesitantly released his forearm. "Please stay. For Hawke."
There was that ghost again, whispering. He sighed, all but throwing himself back into the chair. Four years and so many countries and free-cities away, she still ruled him. Ruled them all. It was irrational. Unreasonable.
She sacrificed herself for you. She gave her free life for yours. The least you can do is listen.
"Varric told me her mother passed last spring."
Fenris had nearly forgotten where he was, so entrenched in his thoughts and memories of that day. He almost flinched when her heard Isabela speaking. Her voice was unnaturally somber, unpleasantly quiet and... serious. It sounded wrong, coming from a throat so used to laughing and cursing.
"She simply drifted away." He'd visited occasionally, when Anders could find no other person to watch her. He remembered seeing her sit at the window in Hawke's room, or Carver's, just staring. Barely speaking, or speaking to the room as if her children were there.
Isabela took another long drink, draining the tankard in one drawn out gulp. "What a shame."
Shame, indeed.
The silence grew between them, prickly and uncomfortable. Isabela took the bottle from the table where Fenris had left it, turning it so she could study the label as if it held a secret worth cracking while Fenris glanced around the room.
The silence dragged, until Fenris was lost in the memories of years ago. There was a map against the far wall, a few circles and an x here and there. The books on the desk in the sleeping area were stacked haphazardly, a few lain open or bookmarked with a feather. It had been so long since he'd last been here, he'd forgotten what it was like to plan some strange adventure with Hawke leading the charge.
The door opened, and they both turned to see who it was that entered. Anders, and Varric of course, but Merrill trailed along behind them. It seemed they'd made a detour to pick her up as well, and Fenris could hardly recognize her. Nothing but bones, and skin that seemed shrunk over her diminutive frame. Before he could stop himself, he wondered when she'd eaten last. Truth be told, it was none of his concern, but he felt responsible none the less.
The last two people to come strolling through the door surprised him most of all. Aveline, still wearing her Guard-Captain's armor, and Sebastian.
"You didn't tell me you were going to bring him." Isabela spit the words like acid, her hand convulsing around the neck of the bottle as she kicked away from the table and made to stand.
"Would you have stayed if I had?" Varric sounded tired, and not in a physical sense. The last few years had been hard on him too, it seemed, between dealing with the Guild, the Carta, and the Coterie. Between caring for his brother, and looking out for Anders and Merrill. And now Fenris had to wonder, had he been hatching some scheme to save Hawke, who made it all look so effortless?
"I'm surprised you'd want to help." Fenris didn't miss her hand edging towards the knife in her belt as she hissed at Sebastian. Nor did he miss the venom in her tone when she turned back to Varric. "Are you so sure he won't warn him we're coming? Wrap him up in a neat little bow to protect this shithole so the Magisters will stay well away?"
"As I recall, you were the one to steal their tome, Isabela." Sebastian said quietly, closing the door behind him. He seemed to have already prepared for this fight.
"And I returned it. But what did you do, Sebastian, with all your moral high ground and the blessing of the Chantry behind you?" The Pirate took a step towards him, jabbing a finger into his plated chest hard enough to push him back. "I may not be the most righteous cookie in the jar, but I would never give one of you up. Hawke didn't give you up, and see what the bloody fucking hell it brought her!"
"Don't give me all the blame, you're far from innocent in all of this. You needed to atone; your greed brought blood and death to the gates so don't put that all at my door!"
"Ha! I've never once tried to hide what I was. Can your precious Chantry say the same? I may not be innocent, but at least I'm honest about it. What of dear Mother Petrice? Ser Varnell and his Crazy Qunari-Killing Cult? But they're innocent, aren't they, Sebastian?"
"That's enough, kids. You can have one hell of a duel when we're done, but right now we need to get along." Varric moved to the head of the table, ripping the map from the wall and laying it flat on the table for everyone to see. "Now, why don't we go and get Hawke? I'm sure she's more than ready to come home."