This news brings about what is almost a mental short circuit, confusion visible behind his eyes even if his expression remains fixed. He thinks, in a way more sudden than he has in years, Bethany?, but that makes no sense at all, and something about this place tells him that that's not what Fenris means, nor does he mean Leandra, even if he's not got a clue what else he could possibly mean.

Contrary to popular belief, Hawke is not a stupid man. This time, he doesn't say the stupid thing.

Like what? Or, you're not making sense, even if that's a valid question, and that's an incredibly valid statement.

"Then I suppose this would be a bad time for you to get to know me," he guesses, with a sort of gesture that encompasses his slimy, naked self, and the slimy, naked selves around them, and the universe at large, delivered easy as if part of him doesn't want to grip Fenris by his shoulders and shake him. He goes on, anyway. "Hawke, Garrett Hawke. Champion of Kirkwall. Rallying cry of mage freedom across the land, but we've both agreed by now no one's perfect. And I'm rather sure I know you."