1.

The process would be intense. He knew this. The magister had decided to oversee the procedure personally. He conversed with the other mages present, using complicated terminology and long, convoluted sentences that somehow described the work that was about to commence. The elf was told that he would be the first to receive such a gift. They were unsure of precisely what the effects would be, but that he would be elevated high above any other slave in Tevinter. And his family would be free. They had guaranteed it. The theatre was bare apart from the table which held the various magical instruments and vials of lyrium. He shivered. The magister finally turned away from his colleagues and approached the table. He inspected the equipment with a careful eye before clapping his hands together.

"Excellent, we shall begin."

Two slaves came forward to lock the elf's wrists into the manacles that hung from the ceiling. He needed to remain standing throughout, the designs that had been traced over his skin twisted over his whole body; forehead to feet. The magister took his chin in his hand and raised his head to look into his frightened eyes.

"Rejoice, my child. Today is an auspicious day."

He returned to the far side of the theatre and seated himself on his regal throne, ready to observe. A slave filled a glass with wine and placed it as his side. He took a careful sip before lacing his fingers together and nodding to the assembled mages.

"Begin."

The first cut burned like fire. The leading mage sliced open his skin along the curved lines of the traced design. The second mage followed the path of the knife with a steady stream of lyrium dust, packing it into his flesh. The third stitched his skin back together, sealing the dust in place so that it could bury itself deep into his muscles, and further still. Into his blood. He screamed. His cries echoed off the stone floor, against the stone walls, back again. A chorus of pain. He couldn't even fight against it, he was immobilised with agony. He hung limply from the manacles, the cold metal cutting into his wrists as they supported his entire weight. He felt the icy bite of the knife cutting him open, but the burning of the lyrium was worse still. It seared his flesh and then tunnelled deeper, worming its way inside like a parasitic infection. After the first hour, his voice gave out. The mages continued their work in the silence, working their way along each trembling limb. From their starting point on his upper back, they travelled down, spiralling around his legs, then back up. Over his chest, along each arm, fingertip to fingertip, paying special attention to his palms. Finally, near the end of the fourth hour, they completed the spiky curves that climbed his throat and finished at his lower lip.

The magister put up his hand, and the mages paused. He approached the elf. His body was soaked in sweat and blood, but the markings shone through. The lyrium had adhered remarkably well to his flesh, following the lines of the design without deviating or with any changes in colour or concentration. The dust had turned an iridescent white when sealed under the skin, an unexpected feature, but not unpleasant. It did enhance the beauty of the markings he had designed. The curves and spikes were placed to follow the natural flow of energy through the body, emphasising points of power, thickest when following the paths of major arteries. Blood and lyrium, together at last. Another unexpected side effect, his hair had been bleached white. How charming; it matched the tone of the markings to create a not unappealing overall picture. The elf was hanging limply from the manacles. The magister lifted his face to see that his eyes were closed. He cast a simple spell, waving a hand over his pale face. Still alive, no obvious damage. He brushed the sweat-soaked hair away from the forehead and snapped his fingers at the attendant mages.

The first mage cut through the skin of his forehead to reveal the three small circles of flesh that were to complete the design. Blood dripped down the elf's unconscious face. The second mage filled each circle with lyrium. The magister healed each mark himself. As the last cut sealed closed, the elf's eyes flew open. He thrashed against the bindings, muscles jerking and flailing. He screamed. A piercing, burning scream. The magister and his mages stepped back as though pushed away by the force of his cry. As he screamed, the markings began to glow. First softly, but growing ever brighter, filling the entire room with blinding blue light. Magical energy burst from the boy, throwing the mages through the air and reducing the instrument table to a pile of splinters against the far wall. The magister remained standing, holding a barrier around himself as his eyes shone with satisfaction. Eventually the barrage of magic subsided, the cloud of blue energy receding like wisps of smoke. The elf's outline blurred for a moment as the energy enveloped him, the markings flaring even brighter before the blue glow dissipated and the magic died away. He was on his feet, but panting heavily, eyes wild.

The magister cautiously released his barrier and the mages got to their feet one by one, muttering and casting fearful looks at the elf. The magister approached, and the elf locked eyes with him. His eyes held nothing but fear and pain, like a wild beast.

"What do you feel?"

He tried to swallow, his mouth dry and tasting of blood and salt.

"Who… Who are you?"

The magister blinked in surprise. The elf looked around the room wildly.

"Where am I?"

"What do you remember?"

The elf returned his eyes to the magister.

"I remember… Pain. Burning."

Every muscle in his body trembled. He closed his eyes tightly before meeting the satisfied gaze of the magister.

"Who are you?"

"I am Magister Danarius of the Tevinter Imperium, but you may call me Master."

"Master…"

"And do you know who you are, child?"

"I am… I don't… I don't know."

The elf's eyes were full of fear.

"Who am I?"

The magister placed a hand on his blood-streaked face. Admiring the angled cheekbones and pointed ears, he mused for a moment.

"I think I shall call you Fenris, my little wolf."

The elf closed his eyes.

"Thank you, Master."