The mage was three days ahead of him or more. On the other hand, she seemed oblivious to pursuit this far and did not bother to conceal her journey, or she was possibly just not adept to staying out of sight. But he knew one thing for certain. She would never reach her destination. He would make sure of it.
He had to admit to himself that he had been fortunate ever since he left the Silent Plains. His former master deciding they would take a ship instead of the Imperial Highway, despite the discomfort and shoddy food it would entail. All the hired hands objected, of course, and upon asking for the reason the blame was put on sore feet. Gnarly, they followed Danarius along the diverging path towards the coastland, muttering about weak mages. Fenris knew better. On a ship there are no escape routes and lots of time to take up old patterns, in case he got cold feet as they closed in on the capitol. By the time they arrived in Minrathous Danarius would be convinced of his submission or have ordered his removal. From this world, that is.
Fenris had gone along with fulfilling every purposeless order almost automatically and without regard. Bitterly contemplating how it had come to this. The stab in his back had buried itself deep, a lot deeper than anything he could remember, and the knowledge that it only took an absurdly short amount of time scared him.
The feeling made him clench his fists tightly, seemingly imitating how his chest felt since that day. Why did it not cease? Danarius was dead. Worms feasting on his cold eyes for eternity. He deserved worse.
Fenris had seen him let down his guard the first day at sea that last voyage they took from Vyrantium. His own head was clearing up by then, the ability of grasping the situation and what had actually happened started to settle in. He recognized the chance and that it might not come again: second day they were to pass most closely by the coast since they left dock, close enough to make out faint details in the vegetation. All he had to do was wait, and he had time to come up with a plan of action meanwhile.
Then the time came. Below deck, Danarius were on his way from supper, food that could still count as fresh, to his room for study. The crew were busily entertaining themselves in the twilight on deck so none of them were present. Fenris, as always suspended from the table and food until the whole crew was satisfied, were forgotten at the moment. Most people liked to put the elf with the hateful glare and strange markings out of their mind.
"You can go have some scraps now, my little wolf." The smooth voice of Danarius as he went past Fenris in the haze of the main deck pushed the outcome toward certainty.
As always he felt a smug satisfaction as he past his experimental success, his pet, dangerous but tame all the same. Finally he was back where he should be. All there was to do now was prepare for the ritual to put him back where they had started; blank. After all these years, he would reclaim what was lost.
Danarius still gloated in his succeeded endeavor, steering for his limited working-space onboard. Then came the strange sensation at the midpoint of his back as a hand phased through it, a palm pressing firmly over his mouth and nose, fingers closing around his heart, hot breath at his ear and the words pronounced with abhorring clarity, restrained so that no one else could hear.
"You are no longer my master."
Fenris had felt like his mind was blazing. He did not even manage to squeeze the thumping muscle slowly, as intended. Danarius's scream was just a choked tone vibrating the pained chest and not nearly enough to be heard over the splash of the waves. As soon as the body went limp Fenris withdrew his hand from the magister's chest and started to drag the body towards the stern, the captain's quarters. One good thing with controlled phasing and causing only internal damage was, once you have learned how, the lack of bloodstains. The only red visible ran out the dead man's lips and soaked in a gray beard. Neither trails nor sign for the voyagers that something might be amiss. That probably gave him the night before they noticed Danarius' absence.
He had grabbed one of the spare ropes as he passed by it and successfully shut the door behind himself in the quarters. He was fortunate indeed. One of the back windows stood ajar already. He roughly dumped the body in front of it and then turned around to look for a fixed object to latch the rope around. There were none to be found. The bed might have been a choice, but he highly doubted it would not slide out of place under his weight. Add to that it was on the wrong side of the room from the window. Starting to feel exasperated he turned towards the windows again. Think, he commanded himself. Do it before the captain retires here.
The captain and first mate were on the deck above him, checking the course, position or whatnot they needed to keep this ship keel down. He listened to hear their muffled voices and steps as they shifted their weight. At least he would hear them coming.
In the hastily dimming light he had observed the wooden beam between the windows. Figuring he had found what he was looking for he had squinted closer at the thin rope and nail keeping the window alongside the open one shut. Then he decided that the captain would believe that the line had snapped, if that window was open.
So he put the sharp tip of his armored thumb on the window frame, dragged it downward and severed the rope, watched it fall down towards the spindrift as the window slid open. He realized the cut had left a rather deep scratch in the wood as evidence of unnatural events. Damn. He was loosing his patience, which was probably the first thing he had done as he started this. He growled at the mark as he turned to the corpse again, paranoid thoughts smothered with facts that he would most likely be out of their grasp before anyone would notice it, if they even noticed.
"Get to it," he had muttered to himself looking down at the corpse. Move on to the tricky part. He would have to heave Danarius onto his shoulder, easy enough, and then get out through the window, even though it looked to small there was no other option, gripping both ends of the rope, strung around the beam, rappelling himself and the burden down all the way to the surface.
If he could not… Brainwave. One of the good kinds. Crouching beside the corpse, winding it in the rope he started working. He had no proficiency about knots since he had never done anything like it prior to this effort but managed to fasten the body relatively well. Then he lifted it and squashed it through the fully open window, rappelled it out of the ship.
When it finally touched the expanse of water and the weight started to lighten he climbed into the frame himself, pulling the rope carefully through the ajar window beside him, not wanting to dislodge the strap keeping it from clanging. Then he started sliding downward on his end. The corpse worked perfectly as a counterweight and he soon broke the ice-cold surface soundlessly. So far, so good.
He grabbed the floating body, which helped him to keep his head over the surface without unnecessary effort (ironic that this man could do one helpful thing for another before he rotted). Only the rope left. Swiftly pulling it so that his end went upwards and once it went rounded the beam trying to catch it to relieve the fall. The splash was reasonably mute. Not one soul looking over the railing.
He stayed put and watched the towering ship shrink to ensure no one would notice his bleached hair among the waves. But he did not dare wait long and become too cooled down, so he left his former master for the last time and started swimming towards the shore. It was hard to spot it from his point of view but the times he got carried to the top of a wave he saw lights inlands. They got increasingly visible as the night fell. The sea was fast the darkest black and the lights all that differed its horizon from a starless sky. By then he blessed Isabela for helping him discover he knew how to swim, the hard way, otherwise he truly had been stuck on that boat. He had to remember thanking her, if they ever met again.
Exhausted he had reached shore close to morning and gotten help from reluctant farmers, some rest, and soon reached the nearest village. There he purchased supplies with money he had stolen along the way. He had no better choice in the matter and the victims were wealthy, though they probably did not deserve it. He did not feel he had the time to stop so he pushed on to one of the greater cities. Back to Vyrantium, for a shipment heading back inland.
That is where he heard the rumors of a magister dispute. Some low-status mage-woman who had disagreed with one of her betters and even put said one out of his position, probably trying to rise in the ranks. Gossip spread fast.
Now the others had most likely collared and sold that one like they did with the rest of the lowlifes. But she had left the capitol and already gone through Vyrantium, or was about to leave the city, the sources were a bit vague. She would be short on guards and friends able to help her and she would most likely be heading in the same direction as him, at least for some time.
Hearing this, Fenris started to consider chasing her down if he got any more information. The more he contemplated it, the appeal increased. When he found a ship cheap enough to take him up the river towards the other side of the Tevinter Imperium he was certain. If he could find any further clues about the mage he would pursue her. This would be the best opportunity he would acquire to take down one of these blood mages.
First try at fan fiction, after rewriting it and some helpful comments it turned out like this. Any advice how I can improve is very welcome. You know what BioWare owns and I don't.
Thanks to American Daydreamer for beta-ing!