Broken Hallelujah

She'll Be Back

It was late at night at The Hanged Man, and after a few drinks to bolster himself, it was Fenris who approached Anders, the mage sitting at Varric's table, but near the door. He had his hands open and his fingers splayed wide before him, showing the mage he meant no harm from the start. Keeping his eyes fixed on Anders, the elf spoke softly, nonconfrontationally. He only wanted to ask a question.

"I haven't seen Mahariel in a few days," he began, innocently enough, or as innocently as Fenris believed himself to be and as innocently as Anders chose to receive the elf's words. "She hasn't gone, has she?" He leaned in the door frame, his body language easy, purposefully so to further put Anders at ease.

Nevertheless, the mage narrowed his eyes for a moment, answering honestly, but evasively, "She's gone, but she'll be back." He took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose as he crossed his arms over his chest.

The rest of the room took no notice of them. They were used to brief but fierce nightly bickering between the two, and Varric had them all mostly drowned in their drink now besides. If anyone noticed, it was the dwarf, and the two men were not yet being belligerent enough to be marked as interesting.

"Ah, yes. Well, then..." and Fenris made to turn away, figuring Anders would not give him any more without a fight."

"Why?"

Halted by the question, Fenris quickly asked himself the same thing. Well, Mahariel intrigued him, that much was true, but fearing that Anders might take this the wrong way, knowing what was - ever bafflingly, to the elf - between the mage and the Warden, he chose a different truth instead. "We had been having a conversation. I had only hoped it was one we could finish, eventually."

Despite himself, Anders smiled. Lyna had that effect on people, and even steely Fenris couldn't escape her pull. And this magnetic woman was his. "She'll be back," he repeated, and Fenris nodded, satisfied the mage was telling the truth.

Anders watched Fenris walk away, a lingering suspicion of the swordsman he could never shake making Anders' eyes follow the elf to the bar, where he threw back the last of a glass of wine, and left The Hanged Man for evening. Anders uncrossed his arms and placed his hands flat on Varric's table, sitting a little taller than he had previously been. Mahariel would be back indeed.

Across the table, Varric's attention was now piqued, not by the confrontation, but by the lack of one. The dwarf picked up his drink, but even around his stein, he didn't take his eyes off of Anders.

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