Apologies for the delay in updating this. Real life intervened, and I wasn't satisfied with the original ending to this chapter. Many thanks to those who've added this (and me!) to favorites and alerts. Your support is much appreciated. Enjoy! Reviews and random thoughts are always welcome.

Over a week since the bounty hunters Danarius had sent after him had been slain, and templars still swarmed around and inside the magister's borrowed mansion. Did they really expect to find anything that might lead them to Danarius? Fenris watched from his crouch in the narrow alley across the street. Wearing a dusty grey cloak with the hood pulled up helped him blend with the shadows cast by the wide eaves. If any glanced this way, the sun would be in their eyes, hopefully making him harder to spot.

His hand closed around his purse, holding almost two sovereigns worth of silver. Danal Hawke had insisted he take a share of the coin Varric had gotten from fencing the few trinkets Danarius had abandoned. Fenris would have refused, but the repairs to his armor had taken most of the coin he had left, even though the armorer's price had been fair.

Two templars emerged and took up watchful positions on either side of the front door. No matter what time of the day or night Fenris had checked, the templars had been here. The elf shifted on the balls of his feet. Venhedis, would they never be done? Anything that might have been used to trace the magister was in the hands of Varric's fence. Not that much of value had been left behind, at least in the way of baubles. Danarius hungered for power, for control. Wealth held little allure for him beyond the status it could buy in the form of expensive wines and other such luxuries by which the Tevinter nobility judged one another.

The chantry bells chimed the third hour after mid-day before the lieutenant in charge of today's search team exited the mansion, trailed by half-a-dozen men and women.

"Lieutenant, don't you think one more sweep would-"a female templar started to say.

The officer turned abruptly, his hand on his sword hilt. "No, we've been through this bloody mansion from attic to root cellar over a dozen times. Besides, whatever magic traces that maleficar left dissipated days ago."

"Sir, with all due respect, I don't like leaving this unfinished."

"Neither do I, but there's nothing here." He glanced at the mansion. "This place is the seneschal's problem now."

The templars formed up in two short lines of three, headed by the lieutenant, and marched off in the direction of the chantry. Thank the Maker, Fenris thought as he slipped out of the alley, then into the mansion using the key he'd retrieved off the dead slave hunter. He dropped his small pack by the door after closing it. The bodies were gone, though blood stains still marred the intricately inlaid tiles of the receiving room.

His soft-soled boots whispered against the floor as he inspected the rest of the first level. Someone had emptied the pantry, though the smell of bread and peaches lingered. Perhaps the templars had eaten them? He shrugged. It didn't matter. Cooking hadn't been one of the skills Danarius had required of him. When Fenris entered the bedroom the magister had probably claimed as his own, the elf's face darkened at the unexpected surge of memories of heated groping and forced passion the unmade bed roused.

He shoved open a window, then dragged the mattress and pillows off and threw them out the window, pausing long enough to watch the fine linen sheets tangle on a scattering of rose bushes right below the window. By the time he pivoted back to the bed, his sword was in his hands. What was one more piece of hacked furniture?

No, he thought, lowering his weapon, then sheathing it. He'd cut a path to freedom with this blade. He would not dishonor it.

In the back of the pantry, he retrieved the axe he'd spotted in his earlier explorations. He smiled. Yes, this would do quite well.

Danarius believed in buying the best quality he could afford. But even black cherry yielded easily to a determined elf with lyrium enhanced strength. After demolishing the intricately carved footboard, Fenris paused just long enough to pull off his gauntlets, cuirass, and the padded tunic he wore under it.

A breeze drifted through the windows, cooling the sweat beading on his skin and running down his spine. He wiped his brow with the back of his forearm as he eyed the remains of the fine bed. It would be the first thing he fed into the fire when winter came. The headboard quickly followed, joining the pile in the center of the room. He dropped the axe next to it, then stepped back. Fragments of polished wood gleamed in the late afternoon sun slanting through the windows. His belly rumbled. And he had coin in his purse, more than enough for a hot meal at the Hanged Man. After living off stale bread and cheese, and stolen fruit for the last week while he'd spied on the templars, even that tavern's excuse for cooking sounded appealing.

After retrieving his pack from the door, he slipped into the back courtyard, then stripped to skin near the well. He shivered as the cold water sluiced over his shoulders and down the back of his legs. But it felt good, scrubbing away the sweat and stray wood chips with a bit of clean rag. Would that he could wash away memories of what Danarius had done to him as easily. Fenris shoved them aside and continued his ablutions. Not having a towel, he squeezed the water out of his hair, then stood in a bright patch of sun, still warm despite the lateness of the day, though the shadows were cool.

He combed his hair with his fingers, making a point of not looking at the lyrium that curled around his flesh from his throat to the soles of his feet while the water evaporated off his body. He knew every twist and turn of these cursed markings, burned into his memory from the ritual. Every time he phased, he felt their seeping warmth, a false comfort caressing his skin.

Pulling his only spare tunic from his pack, he remembered the way Danal Hawke's eyes had brushed over them. Desire stirred, a tendril of heat coiling deep in his belly. It had been a long time since he'd felt that need rise, felt another tugging at his lust because he wanted them. He frowned as he pulled on tunic and leggings. Desire…complicated things. It had no place in the life of a slave running for his freedom. He was going to have to deal with it, though. He needed coin to live and he owed the man a debt.

He glanced down at his armor on the ground near his pack. While a number of people, including elves, carried blades of some type in Kirkwall, only the city guards usually walked around armored. Being less conspicuous might mean fewer people noticed him, making him harder to find, though Danarius had seemed to have little trouble locating him in the past.

After gathering up his few belongings, he deposited them in one of the side bedrooms. Smaller than Danarius', it overlooked a narrow side garden, sporting a few purple wildflowers and an abundance of weeds. He gazed down at it a moment, then closed the window before stowing his armor on a stand in the corner. A table and two plush chairs formed a small sitting area in front of the fireplace. The templars had pulled the mattress and pillows off the bed, emptied the two chests and wardrobe, scattering several pairs of plain dark trousers and tunics - too large for him - the kind a hired sword might wear under armor. But other than that, the furniture was intact. Fenris supposed the room was…cozy. It seemed to have escaped the demon infestation in the rest of the mansion. He'd have a comfortable place to sleep, at least, he thought as he pulled the mattress back on the bed, tossing the pillows on almost as an afterthought.

He buckled his sword on and picked up his cloak. Nights in Kirkwall this time of year were cool when the wind shifted in off the harbor after sundown.

His shadow stretched long before him when he stepped out the front door and headed for the stairs that led to Lowtown. People drifted past him, some casting second curious glances at the markings curving around the sides of his throat and curling over the back of his hands. But the nobles here, like those he'd seen elsewhere, were too well-bred to make obvious comments. And it didn't hurt that tattoos were common among all classes in this seaside city.

Halfway down the main set of broad steps that led to Lowtown, at the entrance to a narrow alley that snaked west down the hillside, he found Hawke crouched in front of a large brown dog. Was he talking to the beast? How odd. Bethany, her back to the elf, stood beside her brother. From her belt hung a short staff of stout oak about the length of Fenris' arm.

"Look we appreciate the…offer, but I think you could do better," Fenris heard Danal say as he drew near.

The elf frowned. A mabari. But what is it doing here?

The dog whuffed and shook its head. Thick scars marred the animal's shoulders and though large, it looked thin and ill-fed. A soft mewling sound came from the squirming bundle cradled in the mage's hand.

Fenris' eyes widened, then narrowed. A puppy?

Bethany turned, looking pleased and troubled at the same time. "Oh, hello, Fenris."

Danal glanced up, then turned back to the dog. "You're sure about this?"

The dog whuffed again, then turned heavily and limped off down the alley. The puppy squirmed and whined softly, watching her till she disappeared around a litter-strewn curve.

"Shhh, it's all right, little one," the mage said. "It will be all right." The creature licked her hand and Bethany smiled, making soft soothing sounds as she stroked its head.

Danal rubbed the back of his neck and rose. "Well, that was…interesting." He glanced down the alley, then back at his sister.

"Seems like we've got a new addition to the family."

"Uncle Gamlen will be so thrilled," the mage said, then sighed.

The elf frowned. "I don't understand."

Danal shrugged. "I'm not sure I do, either." He glanced down at his right forearm, and only then did Fenris notice the round red indentations near his wrist. "But she was quite…insistent. I thought they had to be older before they imprinted."

"It seems not," Fenris said, eyeing the small brown bundle in Bethany's hands. Though why the dog had chosen a mage was a mystery. Surely it could have found someone more…appropriate.

"We were on our way to the Hanged Man to get fleeced by Isabella," Danal said. "You're welcome to join us."

Fenris glanced up, one finely arched brow rising. "Fleeced?"

The human waved a hand. "Weekly game of Wicked Grace."

"I'm familiar with the game."

Danal nodded. "Good. Though, we should probably drop this little one off at home before we settle in."

The mage looked up, her eyes flashing. "And leave her alone with Uncle Gamlen? I don't think so. He'd lose her in a wager."

"Well, Mother-"

"Always said if it followed you home, you cantake care of it."

Danal laughed and threw up his hands. "All right, she comes with us." He smiled and caressed a spot on the top of the puppy's head. "She's probably hungry. Let's hope what passes for food at the Hanged Man doesn't kill her."

"She's going to need a name," Bethany murmured as they turned and headed down the steps.

"Spot?"

Bethany made a face, then a flicker of sorrow passed through her eyes. "Carver wasn't very good with naming things, was he?"

Danal sighed. "No, but he did have a knack for finding strays, didn't he?"

"Maybe that's because-" Bethany glanced back at Fenris, then shook her head. "Well, I'm sure we'll think of something."

Who is Carver? Fenris wondered as he trailed them down the steps. Why did the mention of him make Bethany sad? Why do I care?

Fenris was still wrestling with the uncomfortable notion of concern for anything a mage might feel as they stepped into the small square in front of the Hanged Man.

A man, missing half an ear, lounging against the wall beside the tavern's sign, scowled at them as they crossed the cracked paving stones. Unexpectedly agile, he glided in front of them, his hand moving towards his dagger. Danal's was in his hand, held so that the tip pointed at his shoulder, before the stranger had even pulled his blade halfway out of its sheath.

Even after fighting beside him, the human's speed still took the elf by surprise. If I didn't know better, I'd think his reflexes were enhanced, but he doesn't smell like magic.

"Blight's over, Fereldan." Half-ear flicked his blade in the mage's direction. "Time you left and took your mangy mongrel with you."

Bethany flushed and Fenris felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as her magic stirred.

Danal smiled, like the Fog Warriors had when anticipating a fine battle. "Beth, I think our uninvited guest just insulted the newest family member."

"Weren't talking 'bout the dog." The man cackled, and Fenris hand curved around the hilt of his sword.

Beth's flush deepened, and the puppy growled deep in her throat as the mage backed up, shifting behind her brother, then slightly to his left, bringing her almost shoulder to shoulder with the elf.

"Here, hold her for me, will you?" Bethany said, turning to Fenris. A lifetime of unquestioning obedience to command tones from a magister had him reaching out to accept the tiny burden. His hands had barely closed around the squirming bundle of fur when anger rose at his automatic response. He eyes narrowed.

"I'm not a-"

Fenris hopped back when he noted Danal's shift in posture, signaling the start of a spinning maneuver. The elf backed up further when Danal pivoted.

Half-ear's dagger flashed in the sun, blocking Danal's blade. The street tough grinned, and lunged forward, going for the throat. Danal skipped back, pivoting to his right. Half-ear followed, turning away from the mage who slipped behind him, her staff held in both hands.

Fenris scowled. Here it comes. A mage's answer to every problem.

Instead of lashing out with her magic, Bethany reined it in, so tightly even Fenris with his heightened sensitivity couldn't feel it along the lyrium lines burned into his skin.

A hard, precise hit to the back of the head and the human dropped to the ground, his eyes rolling up in his head, as his dagger clattered to the ground.

Danal scooped it up and tossed it into a side alley. He grinned at his sister. "Nice move, Beth."

She sighed, and hooked her staff back on her belt. "It's not like we don't get enough practice." Then she smiled, and held out her hands to the elf. The puppy yipped, her stumpy tail wagging furiously. Fenris handed her over, still angry over his unthinking response, but a life time of practice let him hide the feeling.

Bethany smiled at him. "Thank you, Fenris...for looking after her."

He waved a hand. "It was nothing." But a mage showing gratitude...for anything? That wasn't quite...nothing. His anger slowly faded into irritated puzzlement.

Danal stepped around the unconscious man and reached for the door.

"C'mon, time to get fleeced by Isabella."

"Does she always win against you?" Fenris asked.

Danal paused just inside the doorway and smiled "Often enough. Half the time she doesn't even have to cheat." He threw the elf a speculative look. "Maybe your being here will bring me luck."

Now there was a sobering thought, though meeting the human had certainly been lucky for the elf. An old Tevinter saying about fortune cautioned that the gods favored the strong. Fenris glanced back at the unconscious man lying on the ground behind him. Danal Hawke was strong, strong enough to leave a potential enemy alive.

Fenris turned back to follow them into the tavern. Bethany was strong, too. That realization squirmed into his thoughts as Danal's sister murmured soothing nonsense to the puppy.

The elf paused in the doorway a moment, watching them thread their way through the small crowd of early evening patrons. Of course, it could just have been the threat of being caught by the templars and sent to the Gallows that had made her refrain from using magic. Still...Kirkwall was far from Tevinter, and not just in terms of distance.

Fenris shrugged. Either way, Danal Hawke would have another pair of eyes to watch his back, the elf thought as he followed the pair up that stairs to Varric's suite. One could never have too many of those.