“....what?”
He doesn’t mean to sound quite as volatile, for once, but the lyrium in his skin has been throbbing. He runs a clawed gauntlet through silver strands, eyes closing as he heaves a sigh. He doesn’t even know who it was that’s invaded his personal space; he could at least start out on a more pleasant note.
“....did you need something?” He manages to sound at least somewhat more patient this time, although the rigid set of every line in his frame suggests he is feeling anything but. He listens to the ambient noise of Kirkwall’s Hightown, waiting for the inevitable quip from Varric, and scowls when it doesn’t come.
...that’s right, they were gone. Just like that. Hawke into hiding, Varric into the bustle of Kirkwall, Aveline to her position in the guard...
...and him, alone. As he’d always felt.
