"Right now I want a word that describes the feeling you get - a cold, sick feeling deep down inside - when you know something is happening that will change you, and you don't want it to, but you can't stop it. And you know, for the first time, for the very first time, that there will now be a before and an after, a was and a will be. And that you will never again be quite the person you were."
Jennifer Donnelly
Fog
It was raining the day his life changed.
The elf followed behind his master silently, as always. His long, white hair clung to his head and face, draped over his back like a wet sheet of parchment, as he walked with his head lowered. Cold rain ran down his neck and through his tunic. He shivered, uncomfortable. It was not a new feeling. The elf reached back to run a thumb over the hilt of Lethandralis.
He knew the sword was important, a gift, something from his past and therefore valuable.
He did not know how it was related to him or whom it was from, but just knowing that someone had once cared enough for him to give him something was usually enough to make him feel a little better.
This time it was not.
He let his hand fall back down to his side, and observed the ground, taking care not to step in any mud. The feel of it between his toes was unpleasant.
He did not remember where they were going at this moment. He was focused on maintaining his part in this dance that was his life, making sure his steps were correct and his posture hunched. His body was pretending not to be tense, because Danarius did not want him to look tense. He kept his face down, however, his master's pet. The collar around his neck hung loose around his thin neck (a constant bother he had never grown used to) though always somehow tightened uncomfortably whenever he tried to swallow.
He dared a glance up. Danarius was walking ahead determinedly, holding his pet's chain loosely in the hand not palming his staff. Another pair of slaves – not Danarius's but a fellow magister's - tottered along on either side of the aging man, holding a strange looking tarp over his head. The magister was completely dry, while both slaves were positively soaked, their meager clothing stuck to them as rain continued to fall. Neither looked upset – both appeared perfectly eager to please. Something twisted in the elf's gut and he let his eyes drop again, unsure of what it was but shoving it aside.
He felt a sudden hatred for his hair as it slipped under his shirt collar and slid over his back, directly on his skin. His hair was thick and unyielding when it came to moisture; his back became thoroughly soaked. A large bit of hair brushed one of the lyrium markings criss-crossing his spine, and he clenched his teeth at the sudden, sharp agony, his hands aching to tense into fists but not daring to.
Trying to distract himself once more, he thought back to the battle they'd fought yesterday. Seheron was presently in the middle of a war between the Qunari and the magisters. The Qun were demanding the land, and the magisters unwilling to give it – a thought that did not surprise the elf in the slightest.
The day before he and Danarius had been traveling to another magister's home on Seheron. Danarius planned on getting the magister's help in trading goods from Seheron to Tevinter, and wanted to look at a pair of new slaves the magister had recently experimented on. Danarius always made time to go look at other magisters' 'improved' slaves, but none were ever up to par with his own little wolf.
Unfortunately the magister's house was not too far from a war-zone, and the Qunari were getting closer and closer by the day. Danarius had been forced to pass through the zone on his way from the magister's home, and had encountered a Qunari camp.
The Qunari, seeing that Danarius was a mage, presumed he was on the other side of the war and attacked.
They had not fared well.
He remembered the smooth ease with which he'd cleaved through the large, blood-painted Qun, Lethandralis a whirling murder sentence. He had activated his markings and been untouched, simply phasing through the weak Qunari blades when they actually managed to get to him.
The Sten leading the group had actually gotten a good hit on him, knocking him from his feet long enough to bring his crude blade down across his arm.
The elf had moved before any other damage could be done and rolled onto his feet, blood dribbling from his arm, before decapitating the Qunari with a hard swing.
Danarius had left the battle unharmed.
The hair was not moving. He could dislodge it by shaking his head a little, but that made the risk of a misstep a larger possibility, and he was at a constant march that he was not to alter from, lest the chain tug at his neck and Danarius assume he had paused to take a break from the walking. While the elf was weary of walking and would like nothing more at this moment than to stop moving, he would not stop.
As quickly as he could, he reached back and tugged the wad of hair out from under his collar. He glanced up at Danarius, but he seemed not to have noticed.
Relieved, the elf straightened a little and sped up, getting closer behind his master, if only to feel a little of the body heat the magister was putting off. The two slaves gave him wary looks, and he looked at them both levelly until they glanced away. He did not appreciate being stared at.
He had the sudden urge to scratch at the lyrium markings trailing down his neck, but resisted, knowing it would both jangle his collar and draw blood thanks to his gauntlets. He let his eyes distastefully trail along the chain that his master held.
Not for the first time he felt a wave of despair coming on.
He pushed it to the back of his mind, telling himself he would deal with it later, and suddenly caught a whiff of seawater. Automatically his nose wrinkled.
Ugh. I have enough fish-smell for a lifetime. Danarius always liked sailing on a boat, but it made his pet seasick. The elf didn't like fish in the first place, but being constantly around their habitat… well, his stomach began churning at even the thought of a boat nowadays.
Danarius dropped the chain suddenly, causing the elf to stumble a little and look up in surprise. He fought a look of disdain as his bare foot tottered into a puddle of mud. Fasta vass. Then he took in his surroundings. They had made it to the docks, it appeared. Other magisters and their slaves came to and fro, but most of the people looked bedraggled and poor. Citizens of Seheron, then. The war is indeed having an effect on the people here. The elf stared at them as they whipped by.
One woman ran from a boat that had just docked, her long black hair streaming along behind her. The elf's eyes followed her automatically, intrigued. What could this woman be so eager to see in a place such as… this?
Then he moved his eyes as she collided with a man, and the two embraced tightly. Ah. Of course. She has a lover here.
He did not acknowledge the deep pit that opened in his stomach.
His master looked back at him, sliding his fingers up and down his staff. "I will be back in a moment, Fenris. Stay here. I am going to make sure there is enough room on the boat." Without a backwards glance the magister strode off towards a large boat, knowing his pet would stay put.
The elf stayed. He picked up his chain, staring down at it and again feeling his gut twist. Will this be my whole life? He tightened his hold on the metal, feeling it bite coldly into his palm. This chain?
Glancing away from his bind, he noticed a small overhang a couple of steps away, selling fruit. Apparently people were to buy food as they came to and from docking. There were people huddling underneath it to avoid the rain, almost all of them citizens. The shopkeeper was jokingly telling everyone they had to buy a banana to remain safe, and some people were even buying them, though it was apparent it was all in jest. The elf watched bemusedly for a moment before a shiver wracked him.
This rain was so cold it was irritating, and he scowled.
Danarius had told him to stay.
But the overhang was a mere four steps away.
He realized he had wrapped himself in his own arms, subconsciously. He scowled even more deeply at this, but could not bring himself to drop his huddling stance.
A little girl, perhaps eight or so, was staring at him from beneath the overhang. Her eyes were big and brown, framed by wispy red feathers of hair, and the elf was reminded of the mabari war hounds that Fereldens kept. He eyed her back, trying to stop scowling. She was cute, and he was not made of stone. He still had emotions, no matter what any slaver thought.
She waved her hand, beckoning him over.
Danarius had said not to move.
He ignored her.
Suddenly the little girl broke ranks from the mass huddled under the fruit stand and ran towards him. The elf felt fear stab at his heart and he quickly looked away, shifting into a crossed-arms position, trying to appear more intimidating to scare the girl away. Danarius did not tolerate him talking to anyone.
No such luck.
"Aren't you cold?" she asked him, running around to stand in his line of sight. From the corner of his eye he saw a red-haired woman watching him carefully, still under the overhang, and presumed it was the girl's mother.
The elf didn't reply, though almost smirked at the irony as another shiver wracked him. He looked away again.
"Misteeeer," cried the little girl, again moving into his line of sight. "Do you want my cloak?"
He looked at her, at the ragged red cloak that was alarmingly too large for her, and a strange feeling thumped in his heart; a queer mish-mash of jealousy and compassion. He did not want to acknowledge that he envied her even the sad life she lived as a poor, free girl in Seheron, and also was not comfortable with feeling compassion. Instead of ignoring her again, which clearly wasn't working, he shook his head and dropped his eyes to his muddy feet. Now she could not fight her way into his vision again.
He heard her 'hmph' and could feel his lips twitching into a smile. She was cute, indeed.
Then suddenly she popped up again, leaning in close to his chest plate and looking up at his downturned face with her big puppy eyes. He blinked, flinching away from her instinctively.
"Aw, come on, take it." The girl, apparently not taking the hint, stepped closer again and nearly touched his chest plate. She batted her eyelashes and began taking off her cloak.
"No," he finally snipped quietly, waving a clawed hand as if shooing a fly. "I do not need it. Go back to your family." He looked up, but Danarius was still nowhere to be seen, so he made his eyes hard and stared the little girl down.
She shrank back a little, then seemed to set her face. "Well, since the puppy eyes didn't work…"
The elf fought to keep his face stern. "There were no puppy eyes," he said. "I am immune to such things."
She went on as if he hadn't spoken. "…Then I'll have to threaten you."
He felt his eyebrows rise. "Really?" It is because it is apparent I am a slave, he thought darkly, all humor leaving him as quickly as it had come – strangely welcome, since the emotion was so unfamiliar. She thinks she can order me around.
Then the little girl stripped off her cloak and held it out by one finger. He eyed her moodily.
"If you don't take it, then I will drop it in the mud and leave it here. It will be utterly ruined."
The elf thinned his lips, bemused but also a little irritated. "That is not smart. Your mother probably worked very hard to earn money to buy you that." He glanced over at the mother under the overhang. She was speaking to another woman, apparently unconcerned. After another glance around and still not seeing his master, he again looked at the little girl. "Do not be silly. I cannot have it anyway. My…" He felt his face turn into a scowl. "…My master would not let me have it."
The girl's eyes grew even wider and fell to the chain around his neck. "I guess that explains the chain. I wasn't going to say anything… You're a slave?"
He growled out a rugged affirmation.
"Then please, please take it!" She shoved the bright red cloak at him. "You need it more than me."
She was no longer cute. The elf's features darkened further and he shook his head. "Go to your mother, child." He waved her off and assumed his hunched position. Inwardly, he knew the girl meant no harm, but what little pride he had was bruised.
At that moment the rain intensified and a peal of thunder rang out. Scowling, he curled further inward and turned away. The little girl, now quite as soaked as the elf, squealed and ran about in a circle. He eyed her, amused despite himself.
And then, quite suddenly, he felt a tug at his chain. With a short choking sound, he looked up and met cold blue eyes. Danarius had returned, without the slaves but with a new, sleek-looking black cloak. The hood was drawn over his face, keeping him warm and dry. Apparently he did not feel the urge to return immediately after checking on the boat, the elf thought, resisting the need to shiver again.
His master looked at him sternly, then at the little girl. "Did you make a friend, little wolf?" The elf cringed inwardly as the girl suddenly stopped her panicked fidgeting and looked at Danarius with large, scared eyes.
"No, master," he croaked out, hoping to save the girl any distress.
The girl whipped her head to look at him, apparently confused by his sudden change in tone. Then, seeing the dark look he gave her, she took a step back, surely feeling the urge to escape that Danarius brought everyone.
But he stopped her. "What's this cloak? Were you giving it to Fenris here?" He gave the girl what the elf guessed was supposed to be a warm smile, but it curdled his blood. He shot the child a warning look from behind the magister's back, shaking his head only slightly so as to avoid making the chain jangle.
"Um, yes, sir," she murmured, and looked up at Danarius with the puppy eyes that had failed on the elf before. "He just looked very cold and wouldn't come under the fruit stand to stay dry, so I thought maybe this would keep him warm…"
"Ooh, such a thoughtful gesture. Red is his favorite color, you know. Fenris? Why didn't you take the cloak?" Danarius moved his cold eyes to his slave. "How very rude to refuse a gift."
Unable to respond, he merely looked down at his feet. I cannot win. If I had taken it, I would have been punished. So I did not take it, and now I will be punished. Venhedis. And why does he assume red is my favorite color? The slave lowered his head obediently.
Begrudgingly he reached out and took the cloak from the girl's fingers. "Thank you," he growled, purposely not making his voice grateful. The girl frowned, looking sad, but the elf refused to feel bad. The girl was foolish to be conversing with a slave, and now she'd gotten him in trouble. He nearly scowled at her. Children. Blech.
"Run along to your mother, now, child. I'll make sure Fenris stays nice and warm." The elf did not meet eyes with either one of them, only glaring down at the red cloak and scowling at Danarius's condescending voice.
The little girl did not leave immediately, however. "Bye, sir." She stared at the elf, he could feel it through the barrier his white bangs provided. "Goodbye, Fenris."
He blinked down at the cloak, unused to anyone saying his name besides Danarius. And the way she had said it… like she cared. He did not know how to respond and so did nothing. The girl remained only a moment more before scurrying, soaking wet, back to the fruit stand.
His stomach churned with the smell of fish and the unfamiliarity of the kindness. He was chilled to the bone and was now in possession of a cloak that he would never wear. The chain clinked and pinched his neck skin. It was possible he had never been less physically comfortable – excluding his beatings, his branding, his fighting-offs of Hadriana…
He shivered again and finally pulled his feet out of the mud to settle on a flat slab of rock.
"Get dressed, Fenris. We will discuss your punishment on the boat."
Translation; Put on the cloak, slave. You will be beaten on the boat. The elf did as he was told, wrapping the ragged, bright red cloak around himself and feeling alarmingly foolish and conspicuous.
Everything was gray around him except for this rain-blocker. The sky, the ground, the stone, the people. Life was gray. He had grown used to it, but this new flash of color surrounding him made him see just how bland his world was. Depression, an old and familiar visitor, rumbled in his heart. He plodded lifelessly after his master, eyes only up as to make sure there was no danger, though he doubted anyone would attack a magister in broad daylight other than a Qunari, and none were here among the townspeople.
After only a moment he let his head drop again.
Suddenly he again felt the chain drop away from his master's hand. He looked up, reflexively licking his lips as rain fell on them, and saw that Danarius was moving forward without him, into the line of the people boarding the boat. The elf realized that his master must not have realized he'd dropped the leash, and would not realize it for several more moments since he had made sure to keep pace with the magister and not to lag.
Quickly, he moved into line, picking up the chain and trying to avoid getting in anyone else's way. This proved difficult when people began shoving him aside. A faint panic settled over him as the boat began to get fuller and fuller and Danarius farther and farther away.
"Master!" he called.
Danarius did not hear him.
The seaman guarding the boat and taking tickets suddenly caught notice of him. The elf had been trying to slip past a group of women giving the seaman their tickets, having never needed one before when he'd been accompanying Danarius. Now, however, the burly man snatched the elf by his brilliant cloak moments before he could reach the boat. He found himself twirled around and gripped by the collar, gasping for breath.
"Ticket?" The elf stared up at the man, seeing no sympathy or understanding whatsoever in his steel gray eyes.
"My master," he croaked, gesturing weakly, "got on the boat without me."
The seaman narrowed his eyes at him, and panic settled more thoroughly over the slave.
"I've heard that story plenty of times, elf, especially from knife-ears like you trying to hop a free ride out of a war zone to somewhere prettier." At 'knife-ears', the man gave him a shake, and the slave felt deep, wild resentment pick at him. The ill-meaning nickname for his kind rattled every elf, from the Dalish to the city-born. It was also a charming phrase regularly used by Hadriana.
Still, he was a slave, and could only attempt to convince the man. "I assure you, my master is waiting on the boat for me, and if I don't get on…" He could not lift his hands past the man's massive arms to pull out his chain, which now dangled, hidden, behind his back.
"Oi! Garlet!" The seaman looked up, and the elf followed his gaze. A rogue-ish-looking woman leaned over the boat's side, her dark eyes smudged with eyeliner and irritation. "We're full up! Cut off the line!"
Now he truly began to fear for himself. "Serrah, ser, please, you must let me on the boat!"
Garlet glared down at the elf. "You heard the woman. We're full up."
The elf wrenched himself from the man's grip with all of his strength. He made a break for the boat, desperation thudding painfully inside of him. The man roared out behind him, but he didn't look back, the red cloak fluttering before his eyes.
A dark part of him wondered what he was running towards. A beating, and more intense now that you let him out of your sight.
The much more logical part of him took over. I must get to him! I must! There was nothing else. There was only Danarius. Only I must, I must, I must!
Out of nowhere, his foot slipped along the pier, and he tripped headlong into the wood. With a cry, his face met the ground. He tried to gather himself and pick himself back up, only to be nearly tossed into the air by his cloak's hood. Fasta vass! It was as expected – the seaman had caught up with him and now held him at chokepoint, a blade pressed to his throat.
The elf wondered if he was going to die, at last.
I do not want to die, he thought suddenly as the man again turned him around to stare into his eyes. I do not know exactly what it is I want, but it is not death. I will not willingly let this man kill me.
The slave looked down at his feet dangling in the air. Mud. That's what made me slip. Of course. He did not try to fight again, but looked steadily up at the man, pleading with his eyes.
Garlet sighed, his hard, bearded face going a little softer.
"Look, elf," he muttered, "There's just no room. There are people packed onto that boat. Your master probably just barely got on…"
The man eyed him, inspecting him, and his guard seemed to drop entirely. The elf felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny and the difference from this staring and the staring Danarius often gave him.
"If you really are a slave… then consider this a favor." Then he dropped the elf off the edge of the pier and took off running.
The slave flailed underwater for a moment. He did not know how to swim. He had never been taught, nor felt the urge to know. Now he deeply regretted never begging to learn.
A fish swam directly in front of his face, and he gasped unwillingly, swatting at the creature. Water rushed into his mouth and he gagged, waving his limbs around in frenzy. Panicking, now for much more than just the safety of his master, he somehow managed to break his head from the water. His armor and the added cloak weighed him down disturbingly, and he found himself trying to rip it off. The cloak's clasp would not come undone, however, and he pawed at his gauntlets, trying frantically to pull them off, to no avail.
He somehow managed to flail his way over to the pier, and quickly clung to the pillar holding it away from the water. Lovely. He reached up and gripped the edge of the pier. He did not trust himself to have the strength to pull himself back up, and feared falling back in the water. Instead, he shimmied along the edge of the pier, hand over hand, towards the shore. Saltwater dribbled from his hair and poured from his armor in torrents as he shifted.
He spat as he grew closer to the bay, but the horrid taste would not leave his mouth. It was as if someone had shoved a raw fish down his throat and then made him brush his teeth with a dirty sock. Disgusted, he closed his mouth and tried to breathe through his nose, though that too was undesirable, as the water running from his hair seemed intent on falling into either his mouth or nostrils. His hair hung in his eyes, blurring his vision, but he did not brush it away for losing his grip and falling. He decided he hated water.
When he finally reached the bay, something thrummed in him; Danarius. Suddenly every discomfort he felt was gone, replaced by morbid fear. The boat! He attempted to run up the sand blindly and back around to the pier to try and board again, but he was weak from his pathetic attempt to swim, managing only to clamber slowly towards his destination. He kept a desperate eye on the large wooden boat, looking desperately for his master. I must… I must hurry! Venhedis, fasta vass, vistas… He thought every curse he could think of, slipping from Qunari to Arcanum and every language in between.
The boat let loose a loud moan, and suddenly began pulling away from the pier.
Out of nowhere, a new surge of energy flew into the elf's bones, and he sprinted up the bay. The humans and elves gave him strange looks as he ran past them, but they were only gray blurs. A flash of brown made him stumble, but before he could look at what it was, exactly, he had run past it. He felt his blood pounding hard, and wondered if he was about to explode. It was possible, he supposed. He'd seen a person explode before. Random thoughts as this bounced around in him, keeping him sane, if only just.
His cloak fluttered deadly around him, his armor still weighing him down. He ran around to the pier, his legs screaming in agony but his heart beating in terror.
He could not stop himself from falling to his knees halfway down the pier, too weak to go on and seeing that there was no point to anymore.
The boat was already yards away, and moving quickly. Even if he had been a good swimmer, he would have no chance of catching up. His mind blanked out for a moment and he watched the boat sail off.
Then, a flash of blue cut into his vision. He recognized the color, and his eyes attached themselves to it.
Danarius was looking off the edge of the boat, his staff in his left hand and closing his cloak at the neck with the other. The elf stared back, not knowing what to feel. His master's face was as he'd never seen it before; surprised. Scared. Absolutely enraged. Even in his most disobedient moments, he had never seen such an emotion take his master's face.
Something inside him, something that had been there a long, long time, pushed to the back of his heart and left to die; something there… it fluttered. He physically reached up to grab at his chest, not taking his eyes off Danarius but curious as to what was uncomfortably flitting about under his skin. It persisted, like a bat flapping around.
It stirred something in him, and as he gathered his strength and pulled himself to his feet, he found it was a pleasant, if unfamiliar, feeling. Unnatural, but somehow welcome. He clawed at his chest again, and watching Danarius sail away, his lips twitched.
It was not a smile, but a promise of one.
Even as he had no idea what came next, he let his hand drop, eyes on Danarius's face. He watched the boat until it was a speck in the distance, feeling the water falling down on and in him.
He stayed there for a long moment afterwards, watching. A part of him expected to wake up. Another part expected the boat to reappear. Yet another wondered if this was some trick, some trap, an experiment to see how he would react if he was left alone.
But that fluttering bat within him said differently, settling down and sitting deep in his gut. It was not moving, he knew, attached to him as simply as any of the other emotions he felt. This was different from the beaten dog of desperation, or the halla that prowled within him when he was alone and scared, or the unknown creature that took him over whenever he was being beaten and needed to block out the world. This was a different animal, something soft and comforting, but also strong and fierce, unwilling to be scared away.
Fear and panic were still within him, making his adrenaline pump and his eyes begin to water. He felt like lying down and crying, something he hated doing. He felt like flinging himself off the pier and trying to swim after the boat regardless. He felt like falling into the water and drowning himself.
But this feeling he had never felt before - never acknowledged, anyway - kept him from doing any of those things. The animal set heavily within him, and he did not try to move it. Instead, he watched the sun set, standing there for what seemed like several days but was only hours.
Then, Fenris turned around and started walking.