The mage tower is not quite as dilapidated as former hovels, but its upkeep, on the lowest levels, has certainly been neglected. The dining hall is largely forgotten, but long windows hewn in that style of Kirkwall stone shed long fingers of light through its cobwebbed dimness.

Fenris likes it.

He sits by a window with twelve year old Batteseria and a deck of cards he manages to shuffle expertly in gauntleted fingers. He looks content.