He is walking around Haven, the sun being close to setting any minute. Fenris is trying to attract as little attention as possible, having switched to a simple tunic and leggings - the cold doesn’t bother him particularly, although it’s his first time this far south. This Herald business is new, and way too much even for a man who’s lived to tell the story of being slave to Danarius, and then spend seven years by the side of a, frankly, borderline suicidal person named Hawke. He cannot understand Cassandra’s faith in him, Leliana’s quiet assurance, Josephine’s curiosity - Cullen seems to ignore him for the most part, much like in Kirkwall, when he was just another bystander to a party of misfits trying to fix a city that was on the verge of desperation and catastrophe. He is the Herald of Andraste, a woman who didn’t look down to him with mercy from above when he needed her the most, the bride of a Maker who lets his children suffer for sins they never commited. He remembers the Book of Shartan, and Hawke’s smile of glee when they presented Fenris with it - a metaphor of sorts he would rather not mull on.
His elf ears hardly pick up any sounds - most of the people of Haven have retired for the night, and it’s started to snow lightly, but just enough to stop any activity. Taking a path toward the cabin he has been appointed - much too large for one person when there is a shortage of tents for the pilgrims arriving - Fenris’ hearing recognizes something. His trained eyes scan the darkness to focus on a group of what seemed to be mages, gathered around something or someone. “What did you say? We are your superiors!” one of the men sneers - Fenris walks closer to see an elven woman being the target of the group. The girl’s eyes look lost, glazed over almost like she is lost in deep thought. A tranquil perhaps? Fenris has seen his fair share at the Gallows in Kirkwall but never paid them a lot of mind - their fate seemed bleak to him, but also a necessary evil due to the threat of demonic possession. Getting progressively frustrated with the men surrounding the small elf, he coughs. “Step away from her.” he threatens, his voice hardly as menacing as usual. These are circle mages, probably too wimpy to even try and challenge him, let alone do it when they realize he is the Herald.
