Have a Drink(Cyrlan, Fenris)

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for Zaria Hawke & Fenris ; tell me if anything needs to be changed uwu[break][break]
He might have came from the Free Marches, but it was not home. At one point, home had been family, had been the clan. Then it had simply been wherever he went, a feeling he simply carried about. Now, it was that and more; it was the stone walls of Skyhold and its frigid breezes; it was the laughter of the tavern and the melodious voice of their regular bard; it was the blissful comfort of relaxed banter when they set up camp in whichever corner of the wilderness their adventures took them. After all, there was no more clan - through his incapability, they had been killed. It did not deter him from clinging to a fragile strand of hope that some still survived, and the elf made frequent trips to the Free Marches to search when he could. It certainly helped that Varric had provided him with an estate in Kirkwall, though oddly enough, this was the first time he had actually spent more than a day in the city. Previously it had always been a quick business, simply drifting in and out before venturing into the sprawling lands beyond (lands that he was painfully familiar with). Now, however, he had some time, albeit time he had since allocated to meeting up with the Champion and her companion.[break][break]

The elf spent some time tinkering about the estate in Hightown. It was minimally furnished but not distastefully, clearly not expecting any guest for quite some time. Such was as he thought. After all, he still resided in Skyhold lest he was travelling. Outside the walls of the building supposedly his own, wealthy merchants ambled about and continued in their daily drone of life. Eventually, he would make his own way outside, donning not armor but a light cloak draped over dalish wear, staff remaining in the estate. The mage's tattooed face earned him a few curious stares but for the most part, people went about their regular business. Everyone knew the Champion of Kirkwall. The Inquisitor? Heard of him, but few recognised his face here. The fact that he didn't quite resemble the image many had in their minds worked to his advantage in such a case too. The cloak tactfully covered the exposed prosthetic, a distinctive mesh of pale ironbark and steel, the only feature that stood out starkly. He made it to the Hanged Man without too much difficulty. It had quite the reputation, after all.[break][break]

The crowd was not overwhelming, but it still took him a moment to locate the Champion. Or more accurately, for a serving girl to notice the bewildered look on his face and point him towards the back. He managed a startled word of thanks before an attempt to discreetly move towards Hawke, hand extended in a friendly wave. As it were, the edge of the cloak caught on a nearby chair and stopped him abruptly. It took him another moment to untangle it and gather the cloth (and his hurt pride) and slide into one of the vacant seats. The Inquisitor offered a sheepish grin, the inked pattern around his eye crinkling ever so slightly. "How have things been, Hawke?"[break][break]

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