Fenris hears his own name in the familiar voice and throws back the remainder of his wine, downing it in a neat swallow, sidestepping a burly armored knight to spare his unshod feet. The pad of his thumb rubbed the lingering wetness from his thin-lipped mouth while he made for the source of the voice. One hand went to her shoulder when he found her, and he spoke low and quiet, with a sharply mistrustful look to their surroundings.

"Hawke," he murmured, urgently, "Did you bring us here? What part of the Fade is this?" His upper lip curled in a restrained snarl.