Fenris has practice in going unseen in cities, but he's accustomed to doing so alone. There's strange relief to share that burden, of knowing he is not the only one watching his back at all times. He does depend on the silence of alienage elves. The communities are tight-knit and he never knows how far that trust can go - he suspects strangers will be the first given up should anything happen.

Like theft, perhaps.

Fenris lifts a brow as Astarion appears, carrying several bottles of wine that look like they were dug out of a cellar. His expression doesn't shift much, save for a subtle turn toward annoyance.

"Two fugitives and half a case of stolen wine?" It's not even the theft that bothers him - he's learned enough light-fingered sleight-of-hand to make off with bread when he needs it - but this isn't survival, this is luxury. "Are you sure you weren't followed?"

It wouldn't just their skins in trouble at that point. Fenris is fairly confident in their ability to escape. The alienage would take the brunt of the shems' anger.