Likely Alliance
Chapter 1: If You Can Find Me

A note on the text: Consider this an interlude. Events of the story will clue you into the placement of this small tale within the framework of Dragon Age II, but as such, it is unimportant. The concept itself was born of my rolling thoughts about the other alchemical materials in the game around in my head in comparison with lyrium and developed as such. I'm posting this intentionally prematurely. As it stands, the story is incomplete. I wrote it more than six months ago and hit a wall; if the feedback is good, perhaps I'll find it in me to write... some sort of conclusion. I make no promises. About six chapters have been written. This is the first.

Hawke had kept him out late that night and Fenris returned to his run-down mansion bleary-eyed. Admittedly, he was more suited to a nocturnal lifestyle, but after so many daylight missions and so many hours swinging around a hefty sword, he needed a rest. He shouldered open the front door, which he never even bothered to lock; when Danarius still drew breath, Fenris considered it an invitation to a necessary conflict. Now that the magister was dead, Fenris didn't think to upgrade his security. Hawke was welcome to barge in at any moment, and the others would whether they were welcome to or not.

Taking a long stretch in the foyer, he rolled his head on his shoulders, the cracking of his spine echoing through the cavernous abode. Wearily, he sighed, grateful for the dim lights, the thick walls, the solitude. The door between the entry and the main hall was open - he didn't think he had ever had it closed, and he strode through it, rubbing his tired eyes. A bit of wine, he vowed, and then a decidedly long rest.

In the darkness, he never saw the hand that clamped firmly over his mouth, nor who owned it, but in his ear came a whisper, "Shh. I am an ally." Fenris made to break away, to draw his sword, but a tight grip on his wrist prevented him from making the sudden move he required.

The whisper came again. "Don't. In your quarters is a magister. Two more were out of sight at your front door. They watched you come in. Their scouts are on the streets if you try to run. No one is posted at the back door and they do not know I'm here. They don't know you'll be warned." The voice was harsh, desexed by the low, secretive volume.

Slowly, to prove benevolence, the hand drew away from Fenris' mouth, but the other stayed tight around his wrist. Quickly, Fenris turned his head, and in the dim light, he saw a small, lithe figure, beckoning him close with it's free hand. Its bright eyes reflected the pallor; he could tell the creature was an elf, but no more; it was swathed in black, all defining features intentionally obscured. It released him entirely.

Fenris opened his mouth but the elf shook it's head, seeming panicked. "You have one chance. Follow me, or face them alone, if you think you can win," and the form slipped away into the darkness.

Quickly contemplating the latter option, Fenris remembered slaying Danarius - the magister he could have put down without complication, but the shades and demons summoned had required the aid of Hawke, the dwarf, and the guard-captain. Three magisters? Fenris was not a fool. But -

"If this is a trap," he breathed as he hurried behind the stealthy figure, "your life is forfeit."

The elf turned quickly to face him, answering, "Now that I believe."

The off-hand remark made the character seem more trustworthy in its non-defense of itself. That, compounded with the fact that it would have just as easily left him alone, practically had left him alone, frightened him more than the prospect of a trap. Magisters! Did they seek revenge or recapture? Neither option was something Fenris wanted to consider.

At the back door, the figure stepped aside and allowed Fenris to go first, but he shook his head; he didn't want the elf behind him, still suspicious of its motives. It shrugged, and pushed open the door as silently as possible, slinking out into the Hightown night. Fleet of foot, it made to escape, but Fenris, leaving the door hanging open to avoid alerting whatever lurked in his chambers, deftly reached out and grabbed the elf by its elbow, dragging it away from the mansion and through Hightown's streets, avoiding any route he would have made from his front door; he didn't know how far the scouts reached, how far the magisters could see. He brought it to Hawke's front door where he could seek help should the need arise.

Pushing the creature up against one ivy-lined pillar, Fenris held it by its collar and demanded, "Who are you?"

It raised its hands to show it was unarmed, and Fenris released his hold on its collar. Reaching for the black swaddling that covered all but the elf's green eyes, it tore the cover back, revealing Dalish tattoos, thin lips, and a head of pitch-black hair that hung in ringlets, falling just above its shoulders. The face bore lines around its mouth, and in the moonlight, Fenris could make out something unusual - thick, curving black scars on its cheeks, following the contours of the Dalish vallaslin, scars of which its forehead and small chin were free.

"The magisters called me Sylvia, because they were ignorant and thought they were clever. My name is Adahlen. Before I was taken from them, my friends called me Ada." She said all this with a blunt, factual tone, though the events implied were awful. It was her tone, not the implications, that told Fenris what she was, or had been: a slave, just as he had been. "So you are Fenris," she cocked her eyebrow, looking him over from head to toe. "You've made a lot of of Imperium citizens very angry." She nodded approval. "Good for you," she finished, and pulled her back away from the stone pillar, making to walk away.

Fenris narrowed his eyes; he was not finished questioning the elf and he made a grab for her arm once more. Adahlen, evading Fenris' grab, reached quickly behind her back and whipped back to face him, pushing the flat of her dagger against his throat.

"I have been restrained enough for this lifetime," she spat viciously, but her anger quickly subsided and she put away her weapon.

Fenris blinked quickly, lifting one hand to where the cold steel had pushed on his flesh. She was quick. "I apologise," he offered, knowing exactly what he was done, any doubt about her former enslavement confirmed. "But," he went on, "why come to warn me?"

Adahlen crossed her arms tightly. "One of the magisters who would see you returned to Tevinter is also looking for me. His name is Valerian, and you may dispatch him with my blessing."

Fenris parted his lips. "They mean to... take me back?"

"And worse after, I can only assume. Danarius was an important man, I'm sure you know." Her eyes scanned the empty quarter. "And thus you are warned." She gave him a small bow, one hand on her middle, the other behind her back, this time making slow strides away from him.

"Wait," he called to her after a moment's hesitation. "How can I find you again?" He took a few slow steps away from Hawke's door. This Adahlen seemed to know more than she was letting on; she'd known how to find him; more than that, she'd known who he was. Was he a wanted man throughout Tevinter? Had he really stirred up that much dust?

She turned to him and laughed. "If I have my way, you won't. If you can find me, so can he," and walking backwards, she rounded a corner, but not before throwing him a small salute.

Legs working up to a sprint, he dashed after her, but when he turned the very same corner, Adahlen was nowhere to be found. Moonbeams shone against Hightown's pervasive polished white stone. He had the impression he could catch the pale light more easily than he could catch the elf who had very likely saved his life.

He turned slowly in a circle and a half, before facing back the way he had come. He supposed he should ask Hawke for safe haven for a while, since what had become his mansion had now been taken away. Where he once had sought conflict he now wanted only peace.

"Shit," he cursed, and slunk back to the champion's estate.