Fenris/Anders

Tevinter translation at the bottom.

*SPOILERS*

Fenris circled his target. The world had stopped— nothing mattered except him, his prey, and the translucent sphere that kept them apart. For now. The barrier was dying, flickering like a candle about to burn out. He could see the indecision etched on Danarius' face: would he let himself become vulnerable and try to escape? Or would he try to prolong his life as long as he could?

He continued his rhythmic pacing, awaiting his chance. At last, the shield vanished. And his former master he could no longer delay the inevitable. He struck out with the hilt of his blade, the sound of shattering ribs echoing through him. It was like music. Danarius fell to his knees, struggling for breath.

The tables had turned.

Fenris knelt before his master, scowling at the chains digging into his wrists, his neck. They were enchanted, of course, to block his passage into the Fade. Or whatever it was the markings did. Three weeks of intensive training since the ritual, and no one had bothered to explain the details of his abilities. And why would they? He was a weapon, a symbol of power, no more a person than those swords Danarius coveted. Fenris glanced up, meeting the human's steel gray eyes. If the magister wanted sniveling cowardice, he could go torment Hadriana instead.

Danarius chuckled lightly, as if exasperated by an impertinent child, then dragged him up sharply by the leash. The man's hand skimmed his shoulder, tracing the lyrium pattern up to his chin. He hissed, more from revulsion than pain. So this is why he was summoned—the sick fuck wanted to toy with him. Very well. Fenris closed his eyes and sighed, feigning pleasure as cold fingers brushed along his face. He moaned, opening his mouth slightly, and bit down with all his strength. The distinct taste of copper warmed his tongue.

His master recoiled, no longer amused by his pet, then sneered down at his wounded hand. The blood vaporized, swirling into a mist around them. He heard gentle whispers bidding him to relax, to be at peace. His eyes rolled back into his skull. Why was he fighting, anyway? Everything would be easier if he just complied. No need to struggle. No need to resist. No need to…

Stop! Fenris thrashed against the magic, desperately trying to loosen its hold. He ran, but his legs did not move. He yelled, but his voice did not speak. The demonic tendrils had already locked away his will. He was a prisoner in his own mind— and he would be conscious of everything.

Danarius' smile widened. "Es quid?" he asked in Tevinter.

He heard himself answer, "Ferrum sum. Servus sum."

A blue fire raged through his veins, screaming to be released. It was a shame, really. There were a million ways to kill a man, and his former master deserved every last one of them. But at least the bastard would die by the very weapon he created. He lifted Danarius by the throat, grey eyes bulging as he squeezed. The human reeked of sweat and fear.

"You are no longer my master." His hand passed through the Fade and into Danarius' neck, ripping out the soft tissues below. The man choked, sputtering bloody pieces of flesh from his mouth. Disgusting. Fenris threw the man to the ground and coldly watched as the red pool spread.

All too soon, the twitching stopped.

And the world restarted.

A frightened whimper came from behind him. He turned to see Varania cowering, eyes darting wildly at the scorched and broken bodies surrounding her. Treacherous bitch. The girl held her hands out defensively, bowing her head, "I'm sorry, Leto. I had no choice."

"You have no right," he spat. "No right to call me that. No right to even speak to me!"

"He was going to make me his apprentice. I was going to be a magister."

"You sold out your own brother to become a magister?" Fenris demanded. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised: a mage would do anything for the sake of power. He glanced back at his companions. A blood mage. An abomination. If not for Hawke, he would have slain them on sight.

"Your sister's a mage?" Anders said from behind him. "You bloody hypocrite, you really are just jealous." He growled, his fists clenched in loathing. The mage proclaimed himself a champion of justice, but he knew nothing of real oppression. How he longed to rip out that constant thorn in his side.

Varania continued, "You don't understand what we went through, what I've had to do since Mother died. This was my only chance." Her voice turned harsh, "You said you didn't ask for this, but that's not true. You wanted it. You competed for it. When you won, you used the boon to have Mother and I freed."

She was lying. She had to be. Flashes of an arena danced through his mind— he remembered the sharp crack of a neck breaking under his grip. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Freedom was no boon" she said. "I look on you now and I think you received the better end of the bargain." If she wanted the markings, she could take them! She had no idea of the agony he endured, the pain he felt to this day. He would have done anything to have a real family, but she would have seen him flayed alive for her own personal gain. This mage was not his sister. She was just like all the others: a viper waiting to strike. He advanced, the lyrium burning once more.

Merrill stepped in front of him, crying "No, you cannot do this! I won't let you!"

He would have struck the mage, but Hawke took the girl's hand, leading her aside. "This is his decision," he said quietly. She relented, allowing the rogue to pull her into his arms. The human was honest, an expert fighter, yet he was a damned fool when it came to the dangers of such creatures. He stole a glance at Anders, expecting the man to try to stop him as well. But the human mage was oddly quiet for once. Not that it mattered.

Fenris closed the distance between him and the woman, looking into her eyes. Green, just like his. "I would have given you everything."

She backed away from him, shaking her head in despair. But it was too late for mercy. He felt her inhale sharply, watched her fall to the ground, heard her cry out in agony. Warm blood, his sister's blood, drenched his hands.

…

Anders paced along his clinic's floors. No patients tonight, thank the Maker. As much as he wanted to help people, healing could be exhausting. And he didn't need any more troubles right now.

It was infuriating. It was hypocrisy! For years, Fenris harped on mages for being weak while he himself had magic in his blood. Then the elf murdered his own sister. That poor girl— she had obviously been coerced. And the worst part? He could have prevented it, he should have prevented it, but Justice did not allow him to. The spirit considered Varania's betrayal unforgivable. Especially since he was rather… protective of Fenris.

The lyrium, it sang to them. Anders couldn't hear it, not like Justice could, but he could feel an echo of it through his bones. As much as he detested the elf, he was drawn to it. Strange, how such a beautiful thing could be created from such an unforgivable act. If merely drinking lyrium burned like a rage demon, he could not imagine the kind of pain that ritual entailed. Fenris was right about one thing: if anyone in Thedas deserved the Rite of Tranquility, it was that son of a bitch Danarius. Anders knew evil when he saw it.

Even so, it wasn't right to judge all mages by the actions of monsters. They weren't asking for dominion or power— just equality. Why couldn't the elf understand that? He of all people should know what it was like to be hunted.

Anders was breathing heavily, a sharp pain in his side urging him to stop, the sound of clanking armor pushing him to continue. They were running through a maze of cliffs and plateaus, frantically trying to lose the Chantry's dogs. Seven different escape attempts and somehow the templars always managed to drag him back. But this time was different: there would be no lashings, no solitary confinement, just the Brand… provided they didn't kill him first. Part of him wanted to stand his ground and end things once and for all, but he couldn't, not with Karl there.

His companion was a creationist, a healer, not some psychopathic blood mage, and he didn't deserve to be chased down like this. Karl was born into the Circle, he never would have fled in the first place if the templars hadn't enacted the Rite of Annulment. No matter how many times Anders begged him to…

Speed was on their side, at least: nothing hastened a man's steps quite like fear, and magic didn't hurt either. But the templars had numbers. The minute they slowed down, they would be surrounded, captured like animals. Anders wouldn't let that happen. He spotted a hollow in the cliff face and leaped into it, pulling Karl in just as the Templars rounded the corner. They held their breath as the troop of armored men ran past.

Anders exhaled, gasping between each sentence "We can't stay here. They'll return. They'll find us." When his friend didn't respond, he risked a tiny orb of light. Karl was deep in concentration, drawing intricate patterns along the stone. "Wait, is that-" A glyph of paralysis. Damn it.

"I'm going to draw them away, Anders, distract them so you can escape." Karl kissed his forehead lightly. "I can't let them make you Tranquil. Forgive me."

Angry tears flowed down his cheeks, but he could make no move to stop him.

…..…

The spot refused to come out…

Fenris sat in what passed as his bedroom, glaring into red-tinged water. The carapace of his armor lay off to the side, already polished, and now he was trying to remove the blood stains from his weapon. He did not care about the state of the mansion, but on nights like this, maintaining his equipment could take his mind off the pain. However, the Blade of Mercy was not cooperating. Why did it have to be so difficult? He clutched his forehead, applying pressure to his temples. But that didn't stop the memories.

His mother wept when they came for him. "Necesse est," Leto whispered, holding her as she sobbed. He bent down to pick up his little sister, but she squirmed from his grasp. Resentment filled the girl's face— she was too young to understand why he had to leave.

Varania had shown…signs. Sleepwalking. Talking to the sky. Once, he had pulled her hand out of an open flame, only to find the skin unharmed. The fire "tickled" she said. It wouldn't be long before their master found out and sold her to the highest bidder. But if he won this, at least she would have Mother. If he won this, at least his family would be free.

"Vos diligo," he said quietly. Mother was too distraught to reply, Varania was too angry to.

Damned spot! He scrubbed at the offending blot one last time then set the sword aside. It wasn't helping anyway. He got up and grabbed a bottle of wine, ripping the cork out with his teeth. She deserved it, he told himself. The woman he killed today was not the same girl he remembered. For three years, he had searched for her, for a sister he never knew. He took a swig of the alcohol, trying to hold back the thoughts that plagued him. All he had to show for it was a knife to the back.

A sudden rush of agony raked through him and he bit into his forearm, muffling a scream. The pain— it had never been this bad before. Not since the ritual. Every breath, every movement amplified the burning. He couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, and even drinking provided little comfort. It was magic that etched those markings into his skin and it was magic alone that could soothe them.

His thoughts turned to the human mage. They had fought many battles together, per Hawke's request, so he knew the man was skilled. He had even allowed Anders to heal him before, when absolutely necessary. But this was different. To ask his aid outside of battle, to see that arrogant fool filled with pride, or worse, pity… He would die before he would let a mage have that kind of control over him again. Fenris stared into the dimming fireplace. He had no family, no life, no future. Not even an enemy to fight against. He was alone.

…

Anders made his way to Hightown, seething in frustration. He needed to confront the elf, to prove to him that mages were not weak, that he was not weak. If he could just make the warrior understand… He opened the latch to the mansion and darted towards the light upstairs. He found Fenris grimacing at the fire, too lost in thought to notice his presence. The elf wore only leggings and a short-sleeved tunic, leaving the markings on his arms exposed. But he didn't come here to gape like an idiot. Instead, Anders willed himself to speak, "You and I need to talk."

The elf whirled around, jumping to his feet. "Let me guess: that voice inside your head finally told you to kill me. Go ahead and try, mage."

"I can control myself. Unlike you." His next words were said softly, deliberately, making sure each one hurt. "Your. Own. Sister."

The warrior lunged to the side, taking him off guard. He felt an arm constrict around his neck, the tattoos fire against his skin. "Hawke isn't here to save you, demon" The elf tightened his hold sharply, forcing him to gag. They both knew he could do no magic without his voice. "Do not speak of things you cannot possibly understand."

He stomped down on the warrior's bare toes, loosening the choke hold just enough for him to squirm away. Once again, sweat air filled his lungs. "She betrayed you. You killed her. It was nothing more than cold-blooded vengeance" he said as he pushed against the spirit's influence. Justice was not happy about him harming the elf, even if it saved his life. "The only difference between you and me is that I recognize what I am."

"I am nothing like you" Fenris spat. The markings began to glow, dangerous and enchanting. Calling to him.

Anders slammed the elf against a wall and pulled him roughly against his lips. To his surprise, Fenris didn't kill him. Yet. He could feel the man tremble in anticipation and pressed harder, exploring that generous mouth with his tongue. This need, this desire—it was overwhelming. He didn't think he was even capable of such emotions anymore. And the lyrium! He kissed the elf's neck, dragging his teeth along those slightly raised tattoos. The markings burnt his mouth, but Anders was too enraptured to care, the power crashing through him like a wave. Breathtaking. At last, he pulled back to admire the lithe form before him.

But what he saw was pain. Fenris was breathing heavily, eyes shut, body tense. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" he faltered, backing away. "I'm so sorry."

The warrior's eyes snapped open and he dove, forcing them both to the floor. Whatever had been holding him back was gone. Anders held up his arms, trying to protect himself from the onslaught of blows. Suddenly, he felt his wrists yanked away and pinned above his head. The elf's teeth were bared with distaste. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't tear you apart."

"Because I get it, you stubborn fool. I know what it's like to be a fugitive, to be looked at as a weapon, not a person." Anders delved deep into his pool of mana. "I came here looking for a fight, but now…" He shaped the magic into a Panacea and let healing energy envelop them. Fenris collapsed against him, utterly exhausted. How long had he been hiding this pain? "I just want to help you." He held the man to his chest, gently stroking the tattoos. They were warm, but no longer burning to the touch: the lyrium was quiet now, as was Justice.

They laid together for a while, recuperating, until Fenris finally spoke. "I don't need you, or anyone else, to feel sorry for me" he said bitterly. There was still anger in his eyes, but it was more a smolder than a wildfire.

Anders tilted the man's chin up towards him. "Listen. I may disagree with you, but I respect you. I just-"

"Shut up, mage." The elf rose, helping him to his feet only to push him down onto the undersized bed. Once again, he found himself pinned. It was by the shoulders this time, and considerably less painful, but it was clear that he wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

"Are you sure you want-"

Fenris cut him off, silencing him with a kiss. They were rivals—enemies, even—but they understood one another. He wrapped his arms around the man's waist and relaxed into a threadbare pillow. Perhaps that would be enough.

Tevinter:
Es quid? What are you?
Ferrum sum. I am a tool (more specifically, a weapon).
Servus sum. I am a slave.
Necesse est. It is necessary.
Vos diligo. I love you (plural).