Merrill's rotten.

"Are you going to kill me?" I asked.

"No, not unless we have to," I almost flinched, it was the man again but there was iron in his voice.

"You have to promise to be a good girl," the crossbow wielder spoke. It was nostalgic, my grandmother had always made me promise to be good girl, and I had to bite back my usual lop sided grin and reply of "I'm always a good girl". The memory left me feeling slightly deflated, it hurt and I didn't need that right now.

"I promise," I said.

The arrow lowered and I let out a sigh of relief but managed to resist dancing around. With the absence of the arrow I found myself staring at a dwarf. He had the usual strong, square features that belonged to dwarfs and there was a barely concealed twinkle in his golden eyes. . He wore a permanent smirk like he was in on some huge joke I wasn't aware of.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Varric Tethras," he replied slipping the most beautiful crossbow I have ever seen over a broad shoulder and leaning his stout body against an oak table.

"You're a dwarf?" I was confused. Why would he be working with elves and humans, and why an interest in me?

"Last time I checked," Varric said then he smirked, "you're so very observant."

"I scare myself too sometimes," I muttered.

This seemed to be the right reply. Varric smiled. So how many were there in the room? My head quickly scanned the room. Two elves, one dwarf, three humans. Four male, two female. Three mages.

I hissed. My own ears registering how feral and odd it sounded. I would have been embarrassed in any other situation but right now my brain was screaming at me. My heart sped up and my body tensed rigid with training. My fingers bled where the blade was protesting vainly against my tight grip.

"Whoa," everyone in the room backed up a step, drawing weapons. I didn't have a chance; all seven of them were blocking my escape. I knew this yet I couldn't unravel myself. It was too late, instinct had already kicked in.

"Hey, hey," Varric spoke talking to me like I was a spooked horse and gestured slowly for me to calm down; "I thought we had a deal princess."

"That was until I realized there were three apostates in the room," I replied not taking my eyes from the mages. I didn't take in details just zeroed in on the steady thrum of magic emitting from them.

"We should have expected this," it was one of the mages, he voice was clear but sounded tired.

"You think you can make it out of the room with just that little knife, Princess?" it was Varric, his voice so calm and steady that I was tempted to comply. He was right; maybe I should just…No! The image of the village, Blackwater, swam into my head. No, this magic smelt rotten. Someone here was a blood mage. The Dalish girl.

"Don't worry about me. I'm very good at killing mages," I smiled, staring directly at her, letting her know I knew. She shrank back slightly. I didn't enjoy seeing it.

"That's a coincidence, I'm very good at killing Templars" that tired voice from before but he sounded different, he sounded strained and furious like he was trying to fight something.

"I'm not a Templar," I retorted.

"Are you aware that she is rotten?" I turned back to the girl.

"Rotten? Daisy has a sell by date?" it was Varric who seemed didn't seem bothered by the situation at all.

I tried not to laugh, "She's a blood mage."

No one replied. I faltered, shocked.

"You all know?"

How could they stand to be near her?

"I know what I'm doing," she argued forcefully. I felt anger boil in my stomach. The stupid, stupid cow.

"Bullshit," I snapped.

"Okay this is getting out of hand," it was one of the mages, the one with the strong voice, "can you put down your weapon please?"

I eyed them nervously, licked my lips and to my astonishment found myself dropping my hand to my side. They visibly relaxed.

"My name is Hawke," the mage said friendly, "and we were going to question you until we found you on top of Fenris."

My face flushed. Why did I blush?

"Sit down, tell us your name," the command sounded more like a question and he gestured slightly to a remaining chair. I made towards it but remembered the hardness I'd heard earlier and stopped myself.

"Look, I swear on my life we won't harm you," he sighed. We locked eyes. Hawke was an appropriate name. I had thought Varric's eyes were golden but they seemed just a rich yellow now. Hawke's shone fiercely at me, burning gold, that's what they looked like. Could I trust him? He didn't break eye contact, just bared himself to me. I made up my mind.

"My name's Fen' Harel," I said tucking myself onto a seat.

There was a gasp. Oh Maker.

"What did you say?" the blood mage stormed at me striding towards the chair.

"Fen' Harel," I repeated. She almost pulled me off the chair, I had clutch at the arms.

"Easy Merrill," Hawke said, detaching her from me, "What's wrong with you?"

"Fen' Harel is the Dalish name for the Dread Wolf," it was the man elf's voice, it sounded deep and raw.

"The Dread Wolf," Isabella mused, "isn't that the guy who betrayed all the other elfish gods?"

"Yes," Fenris replied. He studied me I could feel, his eyes like knives on my face, cutting me up. So I looked back. I noticed he had silver white hair; it was chopped messily and hung loosely across one eye. I caught his eyes and he glared back. My stomach rolled.

"How did you earn that?" Hawke asked. I turned to face him. I noticed that he was handsome too, a rough, attractive face. The high cheekbones and sturdy nose hinted at nobility but his hair was jagged. He looked like a rebel prince. He was powerful too. The magic was practically humming around him.

"They gave it to me," I replied, looking confused. Wouldn't that seem obvious?

"Who's they," it was the mage from earlier, the one who ate Templar's for breakfast. The image of tiny screaming Templars being lifted on a spoon into his mouth fazed me slightly.

"Pardon?"

"Who's they?" he repeated.

"Oh, the Templars of course," I frowned, "it's not gonna be my gran is it?"

Then it dawned me. They had no idea who I was.

"Why did you haul me out of the crate?" I asked Hawke.

"We heard that there was a Templar weapon in there and decided that they were better of without it," the other mage answered. There was something strange about that one, something not quite right. I tried to remember where I'd had this prickly feeling before. It felt as if there were a tiny hedgehog curled in my side.

"I'm glad we dragged her here," Isabella mused, "it's much more interesting than killing bandits."

"And are you? Are you a Templar weapon?" Hawke asked staring at me intensely.

"Yeah," I replied, "but I'm not a Templar, they brought me."

Fenris stiffened.

"I don't understand," Merrill said pacing, "why not just use another Templar, why buy a slave and why give her that name?"

"You seriously have no idea do you?" I asked.

They remained silent. I sighed. How many times have I had to exhibit myself to the Templars? But it wasn't the constant repletion that bothered me.

"Merrill," I said, her name sounded strange in my mouth, "can you remember how the Dread Wolf trapped the old gods."

"Yes of course, they trusted him and he used their fear of one another to trick them," she snorted.

"Yes but why did they trust him?" I asked.

"He could walk through both their camps, he didn't belong to a side," she eyed me suspiciously.

"Exactly," I smiled, I liked the Dalish fables, and I knew nearly all of them. Well my mother had been born in a Dalish clan and my grandparents had spent nearly all their lives in one. Until there were hardly any of them left in the clan and the ones that had stayed were all starving as it had grew difficult to find food, so they'd traveled defeated to the Alienage.

"Is this of any relevance?" the other mage asked.

I lifted myself from the chair and stood before them. The feeling of all the eyes on me made me nervous and unbearably self conscious but this was the quickest way. I removed my jacket.

"Way more interesting than bandits," Isabella smirked. Then I turned so they could see my back. There was silence.

I closed my eyes. I hated people seeing it. It confirmed what I knew myself. I wasn't human. Across the canvas of skin on my back, an emblem had been carved. Once the wounds were fresh, raw black Lyrium had been poured meticulously into the groves until it mingled and spread, burning my mind, body and soul like wildfire. I'd vomited, screamed, pleaded and even attempted to bludgeon myself to death before the cool arms of darkness had finally embraced me. What I'd found that morning, was a mockery of myself, empty, hollow and marked. A flaming sword cut into my back, stained black from the Lyrium. I held my breath, hoping the group couldn't see the shame and pain on my face. Because some part of me had expected it, as if that was what I was meant to look like and the me beforehand was the damaged version. The knife twisted in deeper.

"What the hell is that?" Varric didn't sound so cool anymore.

"Avery painful tattoo," I joked, hoping to mask my emotions from them and myself.

"I'll bet," Isabella breathed but she sounded concerned.

"Is that the Templar emblem?" Merrill asked quietly. I nodded.

"And is that black Lyrium?" the other mage asked he stepped forward.

"Yes," I replied hastily grabbing my jacket from the chair and pulling it on.

"I don't understand," Hawke said, "what's black Lyrium, Anders?"

I didn't face them until I'd got my breathing under control.

"Black Lyrium has different properties to normal Lyrium, its poison to mages if it manages to get in your blood stream in large quanties; however it boosts our power immensely and allows a mage to perform shadow magic for a short period of time," the other mage answered Hawke, so his name was Anders.

"It's also extremely rare and expensive," Varric mused, "I heard Bartrand mention it once, he said that even a tiny amount could set him up for life. So how did the Templars get enough to nearly cover your back?"

"There's only one of me," I said, "and after the bill I guess there's only going to be one. They needed a better weapon, something the mages wouldn't detect or mistrust. They needed something that could perform mild magic without entering and being tempted in the Fade, something that could walk in both camps without belonging to a side."

"This doesn't make sense," Hawke said, "from what I've experienced only the Trevinter Imperium has managed a process such as this and Knight Commander Meredith would never co-operate with mages." He stroked his beard and glanced at Fenris when he mentioned the Imperium. The markings. I remembered his markings and glanced across at him. He was staring at me as if he'd seen a ghost. His dark green eyes were wide open.

When he noticed me looking back at him, he seemed to regain himself slightly and his face became impassive again. Was he from the Trevinter? I'd never seen an elf magister only slaves. Did that mean that someone here was a magister? I coiled, seething. I couldn't give a toss if I was outnumbered I was going to stab whoever it was in the eye. I'd bet on Anders, but there was no way to be sure. I needed to make sure I got whoever it was.

"How did you get those markings?" Anders asked frowning slightly.

"Well, first they drag you into a room and tie you to a stone table, chaining your arms and legs down so you don't struggle too much. Then they gag you so you can't bite your tongue off and so they won't get distracted by your screams as they carve the ironically named Sword of Mercy into your back with various sharp objects. They make sure your awake for the next bit because they don't want you to die from shock. Then a group of Templars rolls a basin filled with raw Lyrium that has been melted down and liquefied into the room, which as I'm sure you can imagine makes it very, very hot. Then while a group of mages and a magister chant and cast, they pour the liquid into your open wounds. They remove the gag so you don't choke on your own vomit and one had to hold your head down so you don't try to club yourself to death on the stone table while the Lyrium burns and rips up the piece of meat that has become your body," I smile sweetly at him in a sinister fashion.

I saw Fenris flinch.

"I don't think he wanted that much detail," Isabella says, her voice sounds slightly shocked.

"Well he did ask," I smile.

There's another silence.

"So there was a magister present?" Ander's asks gently. I'm not a child; I don't need him to speak to me like that. I don't want their sympathy and definitely not their pity. I told them that so they'd leave or make me leave.

"Yes, there was, I think I puked on him," I smiled.

"This seriously doesn't sound like Meredith," Hawke stroked his beard again. I think it's a habit of his when he's thinking. My eyes perked up.

"Knight Commander Meredith?" I asked.

"Yes, why?" Anders studied me. He looked different to Hawke, Hawke looked like a king. Anders looked more like a pilgrim. He was exhausted. Where Hawke's features were strong and proud, Anders was soft and innocent. His eyes were a light warm, brown and his fair chestnut hair was pulled back into a pony tail. I hate men with ponytails.

"They shipped me over here, to present me to the Knight Commander. I am a gift help stop the latent amount of blood mages," I said with indifference.

"So you were… created without Meredith's consent," Ander's asked. I was unsure if created was the correct word.

"Yes," I sighed, "but haven't you lot got to be somewhere, unless you want me to puke on her too?" I asked I must have been here for hours and my butt hurt. That reminded me, where was my weapon?

"Like I've said this is way more interesting than bandits," Isabella said, a smile playing on her lips. She was very beautiful. Her skin beautifully coloured, with brunette hair that curled dark and thick down her back. Her eyes and lips were full and playful. She was dressed like a pirate queen. A pirate. I'd never met a pirate, they seemed interesting. I hadn't been on a boat before, well while conscious; I wondered what it felt like. I bet it was like flying.

"Thank you," I said with a slight bow.

"Especially the trick where you started taking your clothes off, I liked that one," she purred. I froze.

"Erm, pleased to help? I suppose," I straightened up smiling confusedly.

"You are precious," she laughed, "Where'd you learn such fine manners?"

I froze again. Don't think about it. Don't think about him.

"Nowhere," I replied coldly, "so what do you intend do with me now?"

Hawke stroked his beard.

"Won't the Templars be looking for you?" he asked.

I shrugged, "I'm illegal so they won't draw attention by searching every house. However I was an expensive investment so they won't just leave me."

"Don't talk about yourself like that."

My head snapped round. Had Fenris spoke?

"You're not an object," his voice rumbled, "don't talk about yourself like you are one."

I felt stupid suddenly. But wasn't his master in this very room, surely he should know.

"But I am," I replied confused, "how do they allow to speak like that?"

"No one can stop me speaking like this," he looked as confused as me.

"What about your master?" I asked, "Isn't he in this room?"

His eyes instantly narrowed and he glared at me mercilessly. Oh crap.

"My master is not in this room," he stated, voice dripping with dry hate. My stomach rolled over. But I was not about to be bullied by him, markings or no markings. He intimidated me much more than the others for some reason but I wasn't going to curl up and die like some weak hearted maiden. I glared back. I wanted him to know that.

Hawke cleared his throat, "Fenris is an escaped slave," he said, "but that's irrelevant, I'd still like to talk to you Fen' Harel."

I snapped my head back to Hawke.

"So none of you are Trevinter magisters?" I asked.

"No," Hawke stated simply.

"Good," I smiled, "I was going to stab Anders in the eye but now there's no need."

"That's always good to know eh, Blondie?" Varric clasped him on the back.

"Yeah," he laughed nervously. Was he scared of me?

"Hawke," I said after thinking for a moment.

"Yes?"

"I have been thinking," I said.

"Yes?"

"And I have had an idea."

"That generally happens when you think, princess," said Varric. He kept calling me that.

"The Templars are looking for me, yes. But you have an escaped slave right here, and that got me thinking. I don't really want to go with the Templars. They're very serious and preachy, it's quite irritating. And Hawke I am quite fond of you, you haven't zapped me yet and haven't even mentioned Andraste once. You have a varied bunch of companions, so I'm speculating that you must do something of interest. So Hawke…" I took a deep breath then rushed, "I wish to travel with you."

Hawke raised an eyebrow.

"If the Templars show up, you can say you brought me from a slaver near the docks. As a force of order and me being illegal by rights, the Templars can't liberate me without Meredith noticing," I said, keeping eye contact, "And I'm useful Hawke. You said you didn't want the Templars having their new weapon well you can ensure that doesn't happen, if I'm travelling with you."

Hawke stroked his beard.

"Did I mention I'm very good at killing mages," I grinned, "mage on mage fights take awhile don't they?"

"I need all the help I can get," Hawke smiled pulling me to my feet and shaking my hand.

"Thank you," I smiled brightly at him.

"What?" Anders and Merrill exclaimed.

"I swear I won't kill you unless Hawke asks me to," I said sincerely. Fenris smiled slightly but it was gone when I blinked. Surely I'm seeing things.

"I'm so comforted Fen' Harel," Anders mumbled.