It's not funny. Fenris almost says so, that's not funny, but he doesn't. He lets the hardening of his features say it for him, and the look past the man's shoulders—big, brawny, very man-shaped shoulders—as if expecting someone else to be there, trying not to laugh, needing to be taught that this isn't funny. But he doesn't really expect to see anyone else. It's mostly an excuse to look away for a moment.
"You're not—" he says.
There's already a spark of comprehension in the back of his mind. The inflection is familiar even if the voice isn't, the gestures an echo—and there have been several Heroes of Ferelden. There was a conversation with Aveline, a very long time ago, in which she swore Hawke fought with a sword instead of a bow. Maybe it isn't impossible. But that doesn't mean it isn't pissing Fenris right off. It probably isn't fair to blame a hapless (and huge) stranger for showing up with the wrong name and the wrong memories at the worst possible time, but. This is Fenris.
"I knew a Hawke," he says. He's not quite to the point of spitting the words out from behind the stony mask, but he's close. "She's gone. You, I've never seen before."
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"You're not—" he says.
There's already a spark of comprehension in the back of his mind. The inflection is familiar even if the voice isn't, the gestures an echo—and there have been several Heroes of Ferelden. There was a conversation with Aveline, a very long time ago, in which she swore Hawke fought with a sword instead of a bow. Maybe it isn't impossible. But that doesn't mean it isn't pissing Fenris right off. It probably isn't fair to blame a hapless (and huge) stranger for showing up with the wrong name and the wrong memories at the worst possible time, but. This is Fenris.
"I knew a Hawke," he says. He's not quite to the point of spitting the words out from behind the stony mask, but he's close. "She's gone. You, I've never seen before."