Declan and Ro, Matt and Temrys are mine. Nothing else is.

This particular chapter shares itself with the title of a great song by Nine Inch Nails, Something I Can Never Have. I recommend looking it up and listening to it. I find it suits Fenris' predicament perfectly.


Though it all looks different now,
I know it's still the same
Everywhere I look you're all I see.
Just a fading fucking reminder of who I used to be.

"You need to be quiet or you'll get us all caught," Rowenna hissed impatiently to the cowering mage that scampered behind her, Declan and Anders. Darkness shrouded the covert group as they moved as silently as they could with a scared teenager in tow. The girl was prone to whimpering and gasping at every shift of moon light, every sharp corner they turned or every murmur carried to them on the wind, and she'd nearly tripped Anders four times with the way she was clutching the back of his robes.

She gave Rowenna a frightened look with a diminutive squeak that would have been more suited to a mouse and grabbed even more of Anders' robe, this time succeeding in not only toppling him over, but noisily tripping over his dropped staff herself with a strangled cry of dismay.

"By the Maker's nether beard," Declan groaned with a roll of his eyes. With a silence that belied his towering size, he hauled Anders up from the ground with one hand and the girl with the other. The girl was promptly shoved in Rowenna's direction, and his sister struck her across the jaw with an abrupt movement that had her crumpling. Rowenna's arms darted out and circled the girl's waist, hauling her up and over her shoulder where she settled like a sack of potatoes. "Let's get out of here before the whole Chantry finds us and invites us up to the Gallows for tea," she whispered, rewarding Anders' disapproving stare with a wolfish grin. "Yell at me later, we need to get out of here."

They were somewhere under the Gallows, though where exactly they couldn't say. The girl now being carted around like furniture was new to the Circle, and her distraught parents had contacted Anders in the hopes that he could do to do their dirty work for them and free her. Unfortunately, the girl proved to be something of a disastrous idiot, first making moon eyes at Anders, flirting and batting her lashes at him before moving on to the verge of fretful tears as soon as they'd begun her escape. Despite having to carry her on her sore shoulder, Rowenna liked the girl significantly more when she was unconscious.

The tunnels were winding and the stones beneath their feet were slick which made the going both slow and precarious. Anders led the way, the top of his staff illuminating their path and he tried not to think too heavily on what exactly it was that was sloshing around their boots. "We're nearly out," he murmured back to the twins, squinting at the ceiling in search of the ladder and trap door that served as his convenient access point to the sewer system of Kirkwall. "There."

He drew to a halt, Declan and Rowenna stopping just behind him, and extinguished the light on his staff before securing it snugly against his back. His knees bent just enough to give him leverage and he jumped, his hands catching on the bottom rung of the ladder that hung halfway down the wall and he hauled himself up easily, scurrying up the ladder and pushing aside the cover of the trap door. He peeked out, brown eyes peeping left and right before he shoved the cover away completely and pulled himself onto the paved surface of the Darktown alley that wasn't much cleaner than the sewer he'd just left.

"What was the hold up?" Mat murmured, stepping into view from the shadow he'd been lurking in. "We were starting to get worried. All of this activity with the Templars lately has me worried about how easy it is for you lot to get back out again."

"Anna was frightened and we were delayed, Ro's got her down in the tunnels with Declan," Anders replied smoothly, squatting next to the trap door and beckoning the twins topside. "We need to get her to her parents and out of the city as fast as possible. She's as jumpy as a rabbit."

Temrys dropped to his belly next to Anders and reached down into the tunnel, motioning wordlessly for Rowenna to hand over her cargo. His slender fingers hooked on Anna's robes and he jerked her up and through the door as though she weighed nothing. Scrambling to his feet, he bent down and scooped her up into his arms, nodding at Declan and Rowenna when they'd joined the group on the surface. Anders kicked the cover of the entrance back into place and straightened, brushing his hands off on his dirty robes.

He looked pleased with himself, inspecting Anna for injuries and mending the slight bruise she'd accumulated in the sewers. "She's fine," he breathed quietly, "just unconscious, which is probably better for us in the long run. This way, if she is recaptured, she can't give away our route." Anders turned, a triumphant grin on his lips, and promptly keeled over onto his hands and knees. "Templars!" he managed to gasp, dry heaving and reeling from the after-shocks of the Smite he'd been hit with seemingly out of nowhere.

Rowenna cursed, a string of long, impressive phrases in both languages and darted forward, her recently acquired swords leaping into her hands as she stood over Anders. "Temrys, tolle puella alicubi tutus," she barked, falling back to her native language in the hopes that the Templars didn't understand. Her mage nodded and stepped back into the shadows before turning and fleeing, Anna clutched tightly to his chest.

"Mat, adepto Anders ad pedes eius, Declan custodi ea occupatur. We need time." Rowenna ordered, not bothering to look back to see if her commands were being followed. She knew they were.

As ordered, Mat side stepped around her and pulled Anders upright, shoving the mage behind him as soon as he was steady on his feet. Declan had long since disappeared from sight, and the Templars circled in closer, their heavy armor singing as they moved in formation. "Hand over the mages. By Chantry law they belong in the Circle and you defy both the Maker and the law by harboring them. Surrender."

"I defy your circle, your Chantry and your Maker," Rowenna taunted loudly, flipping one of her swords expertly in her hand and pointing it hilt first at the speaking Templar. "You can tell Him I said so yourself." On cue, an arrow whistled through the dark, punching through the visor of the Templar's helmet and burying itself in his eye, and for a moment, everything was still.

The Templar collapsed to the ground in a crash of heavy armor and large weapons, his life bleeding from his body in a rapidly growing pool of crimson that spread beneath him. As he fell, Rowenna launched herself forward, her feet driving into his back and cracking his spine as she leapt from his corpse to the nearest standing Templar. The impact of his armor against her chest knocked the wind from them both and they tumbled to the stones below. Locking her legs around his waist, Rowenna rolled and pinned him beneath her. One armored hand raised and the struggling Templar struck her full in the face, the weight of his gauntlet turning his fist into a weapon. She felt as well as heard the crunch of her nose being broken and let out a howl of outrage. Three arrows sprouted from the offending arm in swift succession and the Templar let out a choked cry. Snarling and snapping her teeth at him, she ducked beneath another swing and slammed the hilt of her sword down across the face of his visor.

His head snapped back, cracking against the ground and momentarily stunning him. Blindly, he reached out and grabbed hold of her arm, drawing her toward him only to knock her back with the force of the Smite he released. Though she was no mage, the force of the expelled magic was enough to send her lurching backwards. Her arm jerked painfully in the socket when the Templar refused to let it go and the joint popped with a sickening sound.

"Behind you, Rowenna," Anders warned, the color returning to his face as the effects of the Smite wore off and he could cast the beginnings of a spell once more. Grunting against the painful flare of warning in her shoulder, she dropped to her knees before the Templar and in his confusion, the man let her go and she rolled away.

Lightning arced from Anders' hands down his staff and out the top, leaping from the mage to the armor that the Templar wore. The man's screams sounded immediately, echoing off the walls of the close buildings with a disturbing clarity until he dropped, still, silent, and smoking.

Another arrow found its mark in the weak spot of the third Templar's armor, catching him just under his arm and Rowenna reveled in the rush that took her over in the thrill of a good fight. Throwing herself at the remaining Templar, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to the ground in a vicious grapple.

He struggled, pummeling her back with his fists but she stubbornly hung on, tugging him beneath her to pad her landing and his helmet rolled off, coming to a stop several feet away. Rowenna bared her teeth at the pinned man in an aggressive show of blatant defiance and drove her head into his with as much strength as she could muster. He cried out in pain as his head first hit hers and then the filthy stones beneath them and renewed the force of his blows against her back. Again and again she head butted him, stars and black spots mottling her own vision until she felt his struggle weaken and his arms slipped back down to his side. "Mercy," he pleaded in a tiny voice, no longer resisting.

Rowenna looked down at him, shaking her head in an effort to clear her vision with little success. "Mercy," he cried again, squeezing his eyes closed.

"Fiet vobis," she whispered, leaning forward and driving her sword into his throat. A fount of blood surged forward, coating her hands and stomach, and his legs kicked out once, twice, and then twitched still. Twisting the sword sharply, Rowenna withdrew and rose unsteadily to her feet.

"Let's get out of here; someone's bound to have heard the noise."


Someone had indeed heard the noise. Three someones had heard it; and were watching the unfolding scene from their hiding spot pressed against the brick wall that lay in shadow just out of range of the scuffle. Hawke was appalled at the tableau, horror and nausea fighting against each other in rolling waves from the pit of her stomach. She had always known that Anders was smuggling mages, he'd told her more than once. She just hadn't known that he was willing to outright murder Templars to do so. It was true that the renegade mage spared no love for the men and women he referred to as torturous jailors, but the level of violence she had just seen went beyond dislike and it forced the bile to rise in her throat. This, she decided, had to be the influence of the Tevinter warriors he'd so blithely taken into his home.

Far from disgusted, Isabel was silently cheering the group as they rolled and traded blows with their would-be captors. More than once, Hawke restrained her from leaping into the fight with both feet and so she settled for placing silent bets on who would beat the hot, bloody mess out of who. That Anders and his companions were killing Templars was of no real consequence to her. She had seen worse, been involved in worse, done far worse than this. Maybe, just maybe, Kirkwall would see a little more excitement now that the hornet's nest had been so neatly yanked from the tree and thoroughly stomped on. She could only hope.

Fenris was no stranger to the method in which Rowenna so eagerly and excitedly threw herself headlong into combat with no real preparation. He had fought alongside her and her brother in the past, had seen the difference between them that turned tides in battle. She was fueled by emotion and adrenaline, a lion freed from its cage momentarily to devour those who dared to poke at it with a stick; and was tempered in a dangerous way by the cool calculations of her brother. Declan allowed moments to tick by until the perfect one was ready to be seized, calmly ending lives with the professional detachment of a seasoned killer. Her fists were punctuated by his arrows, and his daggers were backed up by her axe. Once, in a different life, he would have been right there beside them, where he belonged. Now, in this life, he had utterly and completely shattered any hope of belonging with them ever again and it ate at him in ways he did not want to admit. Rowenna's accusation had been false, Fenris thought of them every day. Every day he had mourned them for dead and the guilt helped devour him.

The stir of magic in the air threatened to spark the lyrium in his brands and ignite them as it rushed over him and he struggled against himself in an effort to keep them muted and unlit. He, like Hawke, was disgusted at the scene before him. The death of the Templars did little to stir his heart, but the flagrant use of magic to destroy, and the ease with which Anders conjured it made him feel ill. Worse still, was the now unshakeable knowledge that Declan and Rowenna had firmly immersed themselves in the abomination's world. They, who hailed from Seheron, who had seen what magic was capable of first hand, not only helped Anders with a confidence that the mage did not deserve, but included another mage in their numbers as well.

That they had helped him first, with that same confidence, with that same ferocious loyalty turned his hands to angry fists at his sides. That he had betrayed them had him turning his face away in shame. He didn't want to look, as the abomination helped Rowenna to her feet with a cocky, sure grin that sat lopsided on his lips, leaning down to whisper something in her ear. He didn't want to see Declan slap Rowenna on the back or her sling her arm around his shoulder as he knew they would. He did not want to see the life that he could have had, should have had, if it had only not been for magic.

"Venhedis," he swore violently, as the group limped away with the cheerful swaggers of the victorious. His fist connected with the brick wall and Hawke let out a swear of her own, catching his wrist in her hand only to have him yank his arm away. He did see the hurt in her eyes, the subtle down turning of her lips, but it did not move him, not now, not this time. He and Hawke were close, she was perhaps the only person he could call a friend in the city of chains; but she would not understand this. She was intruding and he scowled at her darkly, stepping away.

"Who are they to you?" she demanded of his retreating back.

Fenris did not answer.