4.

"Come along, pet."

The summer sun was at its peak, blazing down on Fenris as he escorted his master through the city of Seheron. The Imperial army had unofficially reconquered the island during the spring, and the brief absence of Qunari soldiers was excuse enough for Danarius to organise a visit and impress the Archon with his dedication to the island. Fenris would have enjoyed the visits more if the magister didn't insist upon fitting him with his collar the moment they reached the shores.

"Let them all see. Each blasted spy. They're not the only ones who can leash their pets."

His master had informed him that Seheron was his homeland, and he looked around the cities and beaches with some interest whenever the magister was preoccupied. Of his past, he only knew the precious little that Danarius had seen fit to tell him. That he had grown up on the tropical island would explain his ease in the humidity and the heat, while Danarius only moved from place to place surrounded by sheaths of magic that kept the air around him cool and dry. Being seen sweating would not befit one of his rank. His guardsmen and slaves were not afforded the same luxury, and suffered under the relentless sun. Fenris had watched many of the guards collapse in the heat of their armour, and was ordered to kill one that had fallen while his master was presiding over a meeting in the capital. Another rare pleasure of the island visits was that he was permitted to be armed at all times.

The ritual that had given him his markings had stripped his mind of almost all memory, but his body remembered far more. When testing his abilities, Danarius had offered him a selection of weapons and asked if he felt any inclination towards one or another. Fenris had scanned the rows of sharp knives, swords, axes, bows, maces, flails, and found his eyes drawn to one of the greatswords that rested on the furthest weapon rack. He didn't see the magister's satisfied smile as his picked it out, but he felt the warmth in his arms as they accepted the familiar weight. He was lead out to a sparring field and immediately reduced a dozen practice dummies to piles of sackcloth and straw. His body moved fluidly and seemingly independently as he swung the sword through smooth patterns and forms that he could not remember being taught. That detail felt insignificant compared to the joy of wielding the weapon. His muscles burned as he grew more confident, and he could feel himself smiling as the last tatters of the dummy floated to the ground. The sound of steel against steel made him turn. His master had summoned a trio of guardsmen that began to advance towards him with weapons drawn. They attacked, and he defended himself instinctively, swinging the sword up to absorb the impact of their strikes before retreating, calling to his master for help. The magister only watched on in silence as Fenris guarded against their attacks, using the full length of the sword to repel the strikes of the three guardsmen. Eventually he was forced back so far that he found himself with his back to the high stone wall of the sparring ground. With nowhere else to run, he turned to attack. Succumbing to pure instinct, he raced towards the guards with furious speed, leaping into the air before slamming the sword down against an upraised shield, cleaving it in two. He spun like a dancer, dodging and striking like a snake. One guardsman slipped beneath his guard and managed to land a shallow cut along his ribs. He cried out and put a hand to the wound to stop the bleeding. Another of the guards took the advantage and ran forward with a yell. Fenris felt his head turn towards the noise, and as he braced himself, he felt his markings burn. There was a flash of blue, and the advancing guard was on the ground. Fenris drew himself up and turned to the remaining attackers. His skin burned like fire along the curves of his marks, filling his limbs with renewed energy. The guards faltered, eyes fearful. His sword flashed through the air and buried itself into the stomach of the closest man. The second dropped his sword and turned to run, but Fenris materialised in his path like a blue ghost, reaching an insubstantial hand into his body to hold him in place with a grip on his spine. At that point, his master pulled him away with a rope of magic.

"That's more than enough, my little wolf."

From that day, Fenris held the position of Danarius' bodyguard. Most days, the magister informed him that his appearance was enough to intimidate any attackers. But on Seheron, or during meetings with rival magisters, he was permitted to have his sword slung across his back. Although it was hardly ever needed, its weight was familiar and comforting. A memory of the past he had lost. The magister had arranged additional training for him, augmenting his talents with techniques for combat against qunari and rebel mages. Although helpful, Fenris found that the best techniques were those he learned through experience, and did not follow the traditional forms that he had been shown. Especially since none accounted for his markings.

As the qunari had only been recently repelled from the city, Danarius had outfitted Fenris in the armour that had been made especially for him. It was designed to accommodate his more fluid combat style, not inhibiting any movements, but also to show off the white curves of the lyrium marks. His feet and palms were left bare, and the chest plate was cut low to allow for his collar. A secure harness crossed his chest that strapped his sword securely against his back. Ready to fight at a moment's notice. Ready to defend.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. A small hand had pulled the shutters of a window closed. He listened carefully, and realised that the usual sounds of the city were absent. No children shouted, and no merchants were calling out the details of their wares.

"Master!"

The first arrow hit a guardsman, who dropped silently to the ground. Danarius flung his hands up to conjure a glowing barrier, shielding himself from the oncoming volley. Fenris ducked low to the ground, tucking his head under an upraised arm. One arrow bounced off his bracer, and he winced at the impact. The magister spun his staff in a circle and hurled a bolt of fire towards the rooftop where the arrows originated. Screams of burning men filled the air, and the barrage stopped.

"To the docks!"

Fenris leapt to his feet and raced through the city ahead of his master. Qunari soldiers streamed onto the streets, pouring out of the houses in which they had concealed themselves. Fenris stumbled to a stop as a knot of horned warriors blocked the alley through which he ran. He glanced back at his master, who waved a hand, unlocking the collar and allowing it to fall to the ground. Free from the weight, Fenris rolled his shoulders before drawing his sword smoothly and cutting through the ambushers. Spraying blood through the air, he carved a path for his master through the attackers, leading him ever onwards towards the distant scent of the ocean. He could hear screams and yells echoing through the streets, but focused only on getting the magister to safety. Eventually the blue water came into sight, and he took his master's arm with his free hand to pull him towards the quayside.

Danarius caught sight of a fellow magister standing by a boat, watching over a stream of Tevinter nobility as they boarded. Fenris swept him to the jetty, where he was greeted by the waiting mage.

"Ben-Hassrath infiltrated the city. The blasted natives kept them hidden."

Danarius cursed in Tevene.

"I trust there is room for me? I must return to Minrathous and inform the Archon."

"But of course. However…"

He ran his eyes over Fenris' bloodstained armour.

"There will not be room for any slaves."

Fenris blinked in disbelief.

"This slave is worth more than you and your entire estate, Arctus. He comes with me."

The mage folded his arms.

"I'm afraid that will be impossible."

They argued back and forth, voices growing steadily louder, until a hail of arrows flew through the air and cut through the guards that were protecting the docks. Several of the noblewomen on the ship screamed.

"Either leave the slave or stay behind, Danarius. We're casting off."

A nimbus of electricity sparked around the magister as he glared furiously. He turned to Fenris.

"If you let yourself be harmed, I will be most displeased."

Then he turned on his heel and boarded the ship. As it moved away from the jetty, Fenris stared, still in shock. Danarius' face appeared over the side, gazing with impotent fury at the receding figure of his prized possession. The expression was so outrageous, Fenris found himself laughing. The waves of hysteria washed over him until he was doubled over, clutching at his stomach. His sword fell with a thud onto the wooden boards of the quay, and he soon followed it. Sitting next to the ocean, alone. Truly alone.

Yells and war cries interrupted his blank staring. The qunari were advancing towards the docks, cutting off the streets and establishing control over the city. He leapt to his feet and ducked through the Tevinter soldiers that had been left behind to guard their masters' escape. Several of them called after him, ordering him to stay and defend the docks. He ran past them, ignoring their commands. His master had ordered him not to be harmed, and he knew enough of qunari tactics to realise that staying at the main port was suicide. He ran through the city, aiming for the outskirts. He tried to stay in side streets and away from houses and areas of commerce. Despite his best efforts, he could not avoid stumbling into the groups of qunari that swept through the city, gathering up people of importance and killing any Tevinter soldiers or mages. As soon as they saw his blue markings, the cry went up.

"Saarebas!"

He knew how to protest in qunlat, but it would do no good. The Arvaraad would lead the charge, followed by the Stens under his command. Fenris killed them, taking advantage of his lyrium whenever he could, ghosting around the hulking figures and striking from the blind spots where their horns obscured their vision. His sword was soon slick with gore, and his bare feet were coated with a layer of the mud that formed when dirt mixed with blood. As he tired, he focused less on attacking the soldiers and more on running past whenever possible. He was strong, and the magical dust embedded in his flesh enhanced his abilities beyond the scope of even the finest warriors, but not even he could cut through all of the qunari that stood between him and his escape. His breath came in ragged gasps as he ran, barely keeping hold of his sword. He was scattered with wounds both shallow and deep, sapping his strength and sending streams of blood down his legs and arms. The buildings he ran between were becoming smaller and smaller, he caught glimpses of the green jungle in the gaps between houses.

He forced his legs to move faster, pouring the last of his strength into the final sprint. There was nothing but open ground between the last of the houses and the cover of the trees. A qunari shout came from the left as he emerged from the city outskirts. His eyes flicked over to the noise, and he saw a knot of soldiers readying their javelins. Those that specialised in throwing spears had perfected their aim over many years. They would not miss. Fenris succumbed to the burning of his markings, allowing the energy to course through his whole body. He phased; his whole body blurring into blue smoke. The spears passed through his ghostly form, and he sped towards the jungle undergrowth unharmed, barely feeling his feet touch the ground. As he crashed through the first layer of trees and ferns, he stumbled over a root and fell forwards. For a moment he lay on the damp earth, struggling to pull air into his lungs. Each inhale sent spikes of pain through his chest, and his legs burned and cramped as they adjusted to sudden stillness.

He could hear the shouts of the warriors sent to follow him, they had already reached the first of the trees. He gritted his teeth and forced himself up onto his hands and knees. Snarling, he dug the point of his sword into the soft soil and used it as a brace to lift himself up to his feet. Turning towards the darkest part of the jungle, he forced his trembling legs to run through the thick ferns and undergrowth, until he could no longer hear the sounds of pursuit. Fenris slowed gradually, stumbling along until a foot caught on the uneven ground and he pitched forward once again. This time, he rolled over on to his back and closed his eyes, drawing in shallow breaths until he lost consciousness.

Awareness returned as he felt the point of a spear nudging his side.

"What's this, then?"

"Just kill it, Farah."

"He should be dead already, look at all the blood."

Fenris slowly opened his eyes. A small knot of humans surrounded him. Their faces were painted with black patterns, and they held bloody weapons. Their eyes widened in shock as he pushed himself up to a seated position.

"Not dead after all!"

"So, what's the story, elf?"

Fenris stared up at them without fear. He took a deep breath, and forced his dry mouth to form words.

"My Master left me behind."

"Your Master?"

"One of the magister's slaves, has to be."

"Well this is rich; wouldn't it be something to bring a Vint slave back to camp?"

"Assuming his Master didn't order him to kill us. Look at his sword."

"To hell with his sword, look at his tattoos. They wouldn't ink up just any slave like that."

"He can barely sit up, let alone hurt us. Those wounds need looking at."

"The chief will want to check him out. We should take him back."

"I still say we should just kill him."

"No one asked you, Tanner."

"Get up, elf."

Fenris obeyed automatically, getting to his feet and retrieving his sword. The fog warriors watched him warily. The man at the forefront lifted his axe.

"You got orders to kill us?"

"No."

"You want to come with us?"

"Do I… want to?"

"Yeah. You never wanted nothing before?"

"I…"

"Never mind, just come with us. Men, move out!"

The group gathered together and began to move away through the jungle with easy familiarity. One of the men handed Fenris a waterskin, and he drank greedily.

"Are you strong enough to walk? Our main camp isn't far, then we can take care of those cuts."

He nodded mutely.

"So, what do they call you, elf?"

"Fenris. I'm Fenris."

The axeman spat on the ground.

"Welcome to the Fog Warriors."