Fenris had been quiet the last few days. He had been seeming to fall back into his old, somewhat asocial habits, holding himself aloof from the rest of the party and scarcely saying a word when they spoke to him. He had even recused himself from the weekly game at the Hanged Man and cancelled his plans for his regular match with Donnic. Artur had watched it all with some concern but had known better than to ask. If he wished to, Fenris would talk when he was ready.

As such, he did not come to Fenris' mansion until Fenris asked him to, a few days after getting back from a trip to the Wounded Coast. That evening, Artur joined Fenris before the fireplace in his room and watched while Fenris poured himself a drink. There was a troubled look in his green eyes, and he appeared to be very much the man who had his thoughts on the future or the past rather than the present. But Artur did not comment, only made idle conversation with him until they lapsed into silence.

Finally, when the silence had gone on a while, Fenris, who had by this point had a third of the bottle of wine in him, looked up at Artur and said, "Tell me. What was your father like?"

Artur blinked and looked at Fenris curiously, but Fenris offered no explanation for his question, only held his gaze. "I've told you about him, Fenris," he said eventually. "He was like me. He made everything into a joke. You could never get a straight answer out of him unless things were serious. He didn't have my faith or my… issues… but he was always careful about his magic, as I am. Just not to the same extent. Bethany and Mother all but idolised him, but he never had much time to spare for Carver once he was through with the rest of us, and I argued with him a lot about our views on magic." He shrugged. "He was a good man. Maker only knows what he would have made of all this, the last seven years."

Fenris listened silently and nodded in places. After Artur had done talking, he expected him to ask questions, but none were forthcoming. Instead, the distant look in his eyes only seemed to deepen. Artur, at last, decided that he had to press the issue slightly. "Why do you ask? What's this about?"

Fenris sighed and leant forward in his chair, grasping the bottle tightly in his hands in the same way he had several years ago when he had discussed killing the Fog Warriors on Danarius' command. He focused his gaze on something only he could see. "I… you know what happened with my sister. You were there. You know that she and our mother are dead. But when that happened, I… never mentioned my father."

Ah. "I had wondered about that," Artur admitted. "Nobody mentioned him. I just assumed you never had one."

"I thought the same," Fenris said. "But I don't think so now. I've been dreaming, remembering… just flashes… dark hair, green eyes like me, darker skin than mine, strong and tall for an elf, a deep voice… I think…"

"You think that was your father?" Artur asked. Like Fenris, he leant forward, but his gaze only became more intent with his sudden interest. Whatever he may have wondered about Fenris' father, he had put all those thoughts aside when he had never been mentioned by Fenris or Varania.

Fenris slowly nodded. "He… looked like me. Varania and I got his eyes, but Varania looked more like our mother, from what I remember of her. I… took after our father. But it's not just that… I've been remembering… I'm getting memories back of learning how to use a sword from him, playing with him. Just like how I remembered for Mother and Varania. They don't all make sense—why would a slave have been allowed to train his child in swordplay? I suppose with some context…"

He trailed off, but Artur continued to watch as intently as he had listened. Part of him wanted to feel glad that Fenris now remembered something so vital, but he could see how disturbed Fenris was. "Is this a good thing or a bad thing?" he inquired gently.

Fenris took another swig from his bottle. "I don't know," he said. "The flashes on their own probably would have sufficed. But last night I remembered something important. I remembered… burning up, being sick as a dog with fever. I remembered my parents raising their voices, arguing, though I couldn't make out the words. Time seemed to pass, then my father was at my side, giving me medicine, wiping my forehead. I seemed to get better, then…" Fenris paused and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Then some soldiers came. Guards, maybe. I remembered them arresting my father, dragging him away with talk of selling him to a new master. My mother and Varania and I were sold as well—to Danarius."

"So you weren't born into his service?" Artur said.

"No. I was still a child when he bought us. Maybe eleven or twelve? I don't remember who owned us originally, but that doesn't matter. What matters is what happened to my father."

"He was arrested," Artur repeated. "You make it seem as if it was in conjunction with you getting better."

"I don't know what happened, exactly," Fenris said. "There are so many gaps. But as best I can tell, I was sick. I wasn't getting better. My father decided to steal the medicines needed to save my life from our master. He was caught. He paid the price."

"He wasn't executed?"

"Would it surprise you to know that in Tevinter, slaves are rarely given the death penalty for the crimes they commit?" It did surprise Artur; his brow shot up. Fenris inclined his head and went on. "It's expensive to train a slave. Killing them is a waste, especially if their crime has a genuine motive. My father… I think he may have been a bodyguard, as I was. His talents would have been too useful for him to be executed. Separating him from his family would have been a more efficient punishment." Indeed, Artur could see the cold logic in such a thing, but he shuddered nevertheless.

"And still, it doesn't so much concern me what happened as what that meant. I was born into slavery, evidently. So why would I have competed for the markings to free Varania and our mother? Maybe I felt guilty for what my father had done for me. Maybe I wanted to make it up to them. Maybe I thought, in all my childish foolishness, that if I freed them, they would find him again. It's hard to say."

Artur grimaced. "I don't suppose there's any way of knowing without more context," he said delicately.

"There isn't," Fenris said, shaking his head. "But look what happened. I sacrificed everything for my mother and sister, plainly. Look how Varania repaid me. If she felt any affection for her brother at all, her ambition outweighed it… or she felt nothing." The bitterness in his voice rent at Artur's heart a little, but he didn't dare try to comfort Fenris yet. For now, it was best to let Fenris talk his way through his thoughts.

"I gave everything," Fenris continued, "and I paid the price. My sister would not have done the same for me because what I did was not good enough for her. My mother, maybe she would have. But my father… if I remember correctly, he did give everything—for me. He had to know what the consequences would be—maybe that's what he and my mother were arguing about. He had the choice between taking such a risk and watching me die, and he chose the former. And he paid for it, just as I paid for what I did. I don't…" He shook his head again, confusion crossing his face.

"What is it that you're not understanding?" Artur said, gentle as ever.

Fenris looked up at him. "When I sought out Varania, I wanted a link to my past, to know more of who I was and had been. I wanted, foolish though it was, to have family who loved me, cared about me. I wanted not to be so alone. Then she sold me out to him, and I gave up on the idea. But now I remember… I remember a man who did love me, who did care about me, who was willing to give everything because he loved me."

"That's what parents do for their children, Fenris," Artur said. "I mean, generally. Not sure if my mother would have given everything for me, but my father would have. Your mother was likely just the same, and you know that your father was."

"Yes," Fenris said, "but even so, it is difficult to comprehend. I did have family who were willing to give everything for me, or… I do have family."

"Do?" Artur frowned. "Fenris, what do you mean?"

"As I said, he wasn't executed. I don't know how long ago it was that he saved my life, and he could certainly be dead now, but there's a possibility…"

That he might still live. The thought was almost too much for Artur to contemplate, and if that were so, he couldn't imagine how Fenris was taking this. A question occurred to him then, and he frowned. "Then why didn't Hadriana mention him? Or Varania?"

"What would be the use in mentioning him if he's still a slave?" Fenris asked. "In Hadriana's case, I couldn't have used that information because it would have been too dangerous, too impractical, and because any message I sent would undoubtedly have ended up in Danarius' hands. In Varania's case…" He snorted dryly. "Perhaps she left him behind, too, when she decided to ascend to the magisterium. If I meant nothing to her, why would our father? And since he had already gone by the time she and our mother were freed…"

It made a depressing amount of sense, and Artur nodded again. "Danarius is gone. You could track… ah…" He realised everything that was wrong with that idea as soon as he began to say it—the risks, the chance that it might end in heartbreak, just as his search for Varania had, if a different sort of heartbreak. Fenris looked despondently at him and nodded.

"It's a question that will have to remain unanswered," he said, with a depressing note of finality. "I have no intention of returning to Tevinter, and I have gone through too much to risk giving up my freedom again. If there were some way, I would, but…" He sighed. "It feels like a disservice."

"Perhaps," Artur said. "But you said that he gave everything for you. Living the way you are, even if he doesn't know, that seems like a good way to repay him for his sacrifice."

Fenris looked as if he hadn't considered that. "I suppose so," he said after a momentary pause. He then sighed again. "This should be a good thing. To know that I even had a father and that he loved me. That the possibility exists that he might reappear someday, though the chances are admittedly slim. It should comfort me. But it is… difficult."

Artur finally moved, hovering his hand just above Fenris' knee. Fenris nodded once, and Artur gently rested his hand on the cloth of Fenris' leggings. Fenris' muscles seemed to relax slightly. "It won't be fixed in one night, obviously," he said. "I know it's hard to understand. But you are here because of one man's love. Danarius and his cruelty may have made you, but you only ever got there in the first place because your father loved you, and that love is as responsible for you being here as Danarius is. That… did not come out the way I planned, but—"

But Fenris was smiling, finally. "No. I understand what you mean. That much is true. I suppose I… hmm…"

"You don't need to work it all out tonight, like I said," Artur reminded him. "It's just something to bear in mind."

"That it is," Fenris said. "Thank you." And he smiled more widely, and something like renewed hope seemed to appear in his face, and Artur couldn't help but share in the feeling.