A/N: Just found this! Apparently I wrote it a few years ago, but I'm replaying everything in lieu of Inquisition coming out and thought I'd post a few more of these and see of I can wrap it up. ^_^

It was a hatred, really, a hot and twisting coil that originated in his gut and radiated through his limbs. If he concentrated enough—and stared enough—he could imagine the warm pressure of the mage's innards and their gentle rupture between his fingers. It was enough to bring him a smile. Perhaps there was still some good in the world, after all.

"You're obsessive." A mug slammed down in front of him, sloshing warm ale onto his gauntlets. "You keep glaring like that and Hawke is going to box your pointy ears."

Fenris shrugged, tilting the mug back and draining the ale. It aided in replacing the hatred, a bit. "Perhaps."

"'Perhaps,' he says. Well, you can't say I didn't warn you." Varric eased into his seat, already motioning for more ale. "Hawke always sees more than she lets on."

"Let her. I am hoping that such a trait will make her aware of the trash she consorts with."

Varric snorted. "And then the whole bar took offense. Really, elf, you have an amazing way with words."

"So I am told."

Across the room, the mage leaned down and whispered something close to Hawke's ear. She smiled, giving a playful shake of her head. Fenris began to stare once more.

"Really, elf, you need to stop. It is what it is."

"That mage preyed on her grief and shouldered his way close to her. He is using her for protection and a roof over his head."

The waitress returned with a tray; Varric accepted the new ale with a grin. "Keep them coming until none of us can sit up. Fenris, look. Blondie's not so bad."

"He drove her to blood magic!"

Varric shot a look towards the three companions by his bed; Isabela was going through an elaborate hand motion while Hawke turned a deep red. "Not so loud. You know that's not true. Her mother's—"

"If that mage had managed to heal her—"

"And if Qunari had sugar for horns we'd all be smiling. Let it go. You're driving yourself mad."

Fenris tilted up his second mug. Madness was something he could accept. It was the persistent sense of loss that dogged him.

"Fine then. Say I let it go. What will you do if Hawke dies at this creature's hand?"

Varric drained his drink. "I'll kill the feathery bastard, that's what. But I'd do the same if any of you chose to ease Hawke of her existence." The dwarf gave a smug smile. "What can I say? I'm an equal-minded fellow."

"Hmph." Fenris glanced back towards the group but it had dispersed; he started as a hand came down on his shoulder.

"Still sober, then?"

His heart gave a quick skip. He wanted to lean into her, to raise his hand to hers and lace their fingers together. She'd touch his hair while picking up conversation with the group and later he'd lean against her and begin reading from the newest—Every time. I can't keep giving into these lies. "Don't touch me, Hawke."

The hand left as she moved next to Varric. "Must be." She reached for Varric's mug. "We're off for a bit."

Varric kept his mug away. "No, no, Hawke. No more ale until you make your gallant return. You'll not ruin the one night I'm feeling generous."

She snorted. "Fine then—I promise to return. I'll likely leave Anders at home when I come back, though; he and Isabela have a few too many...ah...fond memories."

The mage was behind him now, laughing and making some coy remark. There were so many things Fenris could do in that moment, so many ways for him to reach around and kill the mage. Would the creature come out to defend its vessel? Would Hawke aid in its defense? The room spun as they all laughed together, leaving Fenris to focus on the solid feeling of his chair.

He didn't say anything as they left, not even when Hawke called his name. The room returned to normal as Isabela hurried out to the bar.

Fenris looked up. The dwarf was staring at him, eyes soft with pity. Fenris had a bit of hatred for him too, though he felt guilty for it. "What?"

"I just miss the days you would brood over happier things."

"I am not brooding."

The quiet waitress came with more ale, setting it before them. Varric slid two mugs in front of Fenris. "It is a noble thing to brood over love, elf. Trust me, the stories are full of it."

"I am not wracked with love. I am wracked with concern."

"My mistake. Regardless, whatever is going on in that tattooed mind of yours, keep it from Hawke. It's a rare thing that Blondie be happy these days. It is not our place to ruin that."

"I'd like to ruin much more than that thing's happiness." He downed one of the mugs. It had been over two years—surely she had fallen out of love with that creature by now.

Varric stood. "Alas, Blondie's happiness is Hawke's happiness, no matter how much any of us try to talk her out of it. It's best to accept that."

"I will accept no such thing."

"No one ever listens to the clever dwarf. Now stay here while I go see Donnic—I hear him out there with that talkative bastard that always wanders into my room."

Fenris kept his seat, checking all the mugs within his reach. He drained what he could, fueling the slight hope that had begun to grow within him. Maybe Hawke would return before Varric. It was the perfect moment—no one else was in the suite, save the waitress who brought four more mugs for the table. Fenris made his way through them all. Hawke would be the first one back and even if she wasn't they would still manage to talk. He could feel it—tonight was the night. She would walk through that door and he'd have a proper conversation with her. She'd understand him and all would be forgiven. It was just a brief matter of time.

Varric returned, followed by Donnic. A few more minutes brought Isabela and Merrill and a few more hours brought Aveline and a group of guardsmen. Fenris let the mugs gather before him, pleased with himself when he couldn't rise properly from his chair. He questioned Aveline and praised Donnic; he laughed when Isabela tripped over a chair after a guard's sword. He mustered his best insults for Merrill but could only frown at her as the words tangled in his mouth. He lost a small fortune gambling with Varric, sure that he would win even as the room spun.

"You need to go home, elf."

Fenris glanced up at Varric. Strange that the dwarf seemed so tall. "I shall see upon my return, the return of Hawke."

"Maker, don't tell me you've turned to poetry."

"Quiet, dwarf. Sit down."

"I am sitting—you're on the damn floor. Maker—Hawke's not coming back, elf. Dawn's nearly here and everyone's left. It's time for good little drunks to go home and sleep off their mistakes."

Fenris closed his eyes; the dwarf was truly flaunting his new-found height. "One moment." It was easier with his eyes closed. The room became solid and warm beneath him; it felt as though he were in front of a fire. "One moment, dwarf." He heard the dwarf mutter something. Good—the dwarf could alert him when Hawke arrived. It meant little if his exact timing was off; tonight was the night. He was sure of it.

"One moment," he said again. It was sure to be only a moment more. Hawke never was one to keep people waiting.