[Oh. He hadn't expected that, and for a long moment Fenris blinks down at his journal, unsure how to take it. It's not wrong. Certainly it isn't, for if things were as they should be, no one would have left. Anders wouldn't have blown up the Chantry; the others wouldn't have had to scatter for their lives, and things would be as they were. He would have long since introduced Astarion to his companions, and they would have eagerly taken him under their collective wings as one more misfit ready to tag along on whatever madness Hawke had found herself embedded into . . .
Or maybe not. Maybe it was always destined to reach a boiling point: mages and templars, Qunari and Kirkwall . . . maybe Hawke has always led a life that discourages any kind of permanency no matter how hard she tries.]
Why do you say that?
[He knows why, sort of, but he wants to hear it. There's a part of him that's ever raw and wounded that longs for affirmation and assurance, and it's so rare he indulges it.]
It is perhaps not as it should be, but . . . say, then, it is what was destined to happen. She was miserable on land, and none of us were meant to last. Not Hawke nor any of our companions . . . I should have known there was a time limit.
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Or maybe not. Maybe it was always destined to reach a boiling point: mages and templars, Qunari and Kirkwall . . . maybe Hawke has always led a life that discourages any kind of permanency no matter how hard she tries.]
Why do you say that?
[He knows why, sort of, but he wants to hear it. There's a part of him that's ever raw and wounded that longs for affirmation and assurance, and it's so rare he indulges it.]
It is perhaps not as it should be, but . . . say, then, it is what was destined to happen. She was miserable on land, and none of us were meant to last. Not Hawke nor any of our companions . . . I should have known there was a time limit.