AN and Disclaimer: I do not own Fenris, Dragon Age, or any Dragon Age characters mentioned in this story. My OC is my own creation, my own ideas are mine, but nothing else.

A droplet fell onto the letter, causing the ink to bleed and smear as he desperately tried to wipe it away. He had effectively succeeded in ruining the letter even more. He was inside, why was water falling onto the letter? The growing lump in his throat which he was relieved of only as a strangled sob escaped his throat gave him the answer. The water came from him, his tears. He was crying. He didn't know why he was surprised. Ten years together, ten perfect years with his perfect woman and now she was gone. For the first time he cursed himself for allowing her to teach him how to read, but then regretted it instantly. If he hadn't learned how to read, he wouldn't know that she was gone. Gone. Where would life take him now?

Varric had said something about entering the fade and not coming out. He couldn't decipher his own emotions at the moment. He was hurt, bitter, enraged, and sad. He suspected this must be what mourning feels like, he could logically see no other reason to feel such a jumble of emotions at once.

The others had been forced away from her after Anders, that blighted idiot apostate had destroyed the chantry and in doing so began a war between the mages and the chantry its self. He'd fought at his love's side, defending mages. Mages! The one thing he always thought he'd kill if he ever had reason without any question, yet he'd defended them. He'd defended them in honour of Marian Hawke, in honour of her late sister, Bethany.

Carver was the only Hawke still alive now, as far as he knew. The line was ending. They hadn't been without hope that they'd have at least one of their own, but their efforts had been fruitless. He suspected, but never voiced that it had something to do with her battle against the Arishok, during which she'd gained the title 'Champion of Kirkwall'.

He had stayed away per her request when she went to see the Inquisitor. He'd had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, looking back on it now it was like a form of clairvoyance. He had known. He quietly placed the letter face down and ran a gauntlet covered hand through his hair, wanting to hide but not wanting to move.

He didn't hear the bartender approach, he didn't hear the request being made. The sound of something being placed heavily on the bar made him glance up. The bar tender had sat down a bottle of whiskey and a small shot glass in front of him.

"I-I can't-" he began to stammer out.

"Someone already paid for it. You want to take the bottle to your room, take it," The bar tender replied as he turned back away from him. The bar tender was an overweight man with greying brown hair, and Fenris had noted he didn't treat his waitresses too well. The man's name was 'Lloyd' but he often just referred to him as 'pig' whenever he wasn't in ear shot.

Fenris eyed the bottle of whiskey in contemplation. He wanted to drink. He wanted nothing more than to escape into a drunken oblivion, but when he sobered the letter would still exist. She would still be gone.

He bit his lip to keep it from trembling, and succeeded quite well in tasting his own blood spill into his mouth.

He cursed in Tevene under his breath as he grabbed the bottle of whiskey, and the letter as he stood up. He exited the bar, his bowl of lamb stew sat at his seat untouched.

Behind him in the far corner of the bar away from him, a woman with long brown hair, pulled back into a high pony tail watched as he walked away. Her eyes darted to his untouched food and she took notice of the contents. She gave a small smile as she thought to herself, 'somethings never change.'

"Hey, that whiskey bottle is ten soverigns," the bar tender told her, a sly smirk spreading across his face, "how are you going to pay?"

She rolled her eyes and placed a coin bag on the bar, he quirked a brow at her and she simply shrugged as she headed for the door.

The bar tender counted the gold coins inside of the coin purse before he paled and called over her, "Hey! You gave me too much."

The woman stopped walking, turning only slightly to ensure that the repulsive man would hear her.

"No I didn't. That should cover anything he drinks for the next few days. Expect him to drink quite a bit. For him to show that much emotion—I've never seen him so upset," she replied, she turned her head away as her eyes closed, fighting back her own emotions at the revelation. Whatever that letter's contents were, it was clear that now was not the time to approach him.

The bar tender scratched the side of his head. The oddly marked elf was obviously someone this woman knew, yet she was human. She knew him well enough to read his behavior, she said she knew the elf himself.

The bartender looks to the white haired woman, only now noticing she conceals herself with clothing more so than a chantry sister. She wears skin tight pants that likely go down further than her boots permit the eye to see, her shirt covers straight up to just under her chin and the sleeves extend to her wrists, where black leather gloves cover her hands. In fact all you can see of this woman is her face despite the fact that it's summer and she must roast in that attire.

Out of curiosity Lloyd found himself asking, "who is that elf to you?"

The woman's face gained a brief look of shock before her expression returned to it's relaxed and unreadable façade, she simply replied as she left the tavern, "an old friend."

Taking a deep breath, the woman filled her lungs with the night air, she closed her eyes and focused her senses, sniffing the air she located the faint scent she was searching for and ran off to a nearby building. If she couldn't speak with him tonight, she'd do all she could from a safe distance.