I hate how your Inquisitor has to believe that either they were protected by Andraste or that there was no divine influence. My Dalish Inquisitor considers himself to have been protected by Elven gods, not the Maker or Andaste.
Fenris follows Hawke to Skyhold and Hawke has to awkwardly introduce him to everyone. Including the cocky, Tevinter, mage.
Fenris took a spot next to Hawke in the small tavern, sweeping his gaze across it as he did. There was an air to the Herald’s Rest that Fenris had noticed throughout Skyhold, but it felt stronger here as if it were the source. There was a sense of community and belonging all these people seemed to have, the way they interacted, the revered and excited glances they gave to those in the Inquisitor’s inner circle, and the simple nods Fenris had received from strangers when their eyes met. Months of being alone prickled down his neck, but he was sure that wasnt the only reason he felt like an odd one out.
Hawke slid a tankard to Fenris, gripping his hand in the elf’s reassuringly. “It’s not that bad is it?” Hawke asked with a smile. Fenris narrowed his eyes at him, still sore about Hawke making him stay behind when he first left.
Fenris took a sip of the drink, pleased to find their ale wasn’t as watered down as he expected. But he shrugged at Hawke’s question, “It’s freezing.” He said quietly, he still couldn’t feel his toes and he refused to wear the clunky fur boots Hawke got for him unless he was scaling down the mountains and rolling in the snow. “Everyone here is fanatically following someone with a fade-controlling thing on her hand. And there’s a quinari that has already worked out five ways he could take me down.”
“No he didn’t” Hawke interrupted, turning in his seat to look over at Iron Bull, who was engaged in an animated conversation with his chargers in the far corner of the tavern.
“Oh he did.” Fenris smiled, The Iron Bull was probably the only inquisition member he had met that he had understood and didn’t immediately distrust. The two elves were both mad, in opposite and troubling ways. The first enchanter was avoided entirely, as was Cullen and Cassandra. He didn’t need to meet them to know how those conversations would have gone. The warden they had was a broken man, slumped shoulders and evasive eyes. And the farther the demon stayed away from him the better, he didn’t like it when it talked. Fenris thought Hawke had a knack for collecting misfits but this Inquisitor was giving him a run for his money.
Fenris turned at the sound of squealing chair legs and heightened voices across the tavern. He couldnt quite see what had caused the seemingly uncharacteristic disruption at the other end of the room but could distinctly hear Varric’s voice hissing something to another patron. At least that felt familiar, even if it called back to memories that felt over a lifetime ago. Hawke squeezed his hand, as if to call his attention away, Fenris turned to him to see an expression on the man’s face that he couldnt quite pick appart.
“Well.” A voice announced, Fenris felt himself tense before he put his eyes on the approaching, slightly drunk, Tevinter. Oh, of course the inquisition had a Tevinter mage on their roster. “Regardless of what Varric and-” he pointed to Hawke, flourishing his words with ease that was clearly not just from the drink, “the Champion of Kirkwall have to say it would be a shame for us not to meet.”
Fenris set his jaw, held eye contact with the man, it had been a long time since he heard a Tevinter accent, especially one from a tevinter noble. “I’m sure.” Fenris almost growled, shaking his hand from Hawke’s increased grip.
“Dorian of House-,” The man started before breaking into a smile, “Oh look, you’re already bristling aren’t you? That’s quite alright, I’m sick of that introduction myself. Doesn’t impress much around here.”
Fenris looked at Hawke, who was making a face across the tavern to Varric who had his hands up in defeat. They had been trying to keep them apart, of course they were.
“But I thought you ought to know,” Dorian continued, a disappointed gaze sweeping over the fur-lined cloak Fenris had taken to bundling in, “That you are still a popular topic back in Minrathous.”
“Oh.” Fenris raised a brow, feeling curious as to where this was going despite the discomfort the conversation brought him.
“Oh yes.” Dorian almost gushed, smartly grabbing at Hawke’s arm for support as he wobbled, instead of Fenris’. “All those magisters shaking in their jeweled boots, whispering about the slave that killed every hunter sent after him, slaying his master before engaging himself with the Champion of Kirkwall. Wonderful, the stories get more and more grand over time. Quite the cautionary tale of why you shouldn’t infuse your slaves with lyrium, the last version I heard was that you chased Danarius all the way to Rivain and cut his head off in the streets.”
Fenris smiled, could almost feel Hawke’s confusion at his side. “That is a bit of a departure.” He could almost see Dorian relax at the comment, the mage as on edge as he was.
“Between us,” Dorian cocked his head, leaning closer by only an inch. “Danarius was an ass. I’m glad you rid us of his presence, if only it was as easy to toss half of the magisterium with him.”