Chapter 11: Blighted Ship

"MAGE! WEAPONS! NOW!"

Amazing how a year seemed to vanish in a heartbeat. It was like instinct. Hawke would kick dirt over the fire on the Wounded Coast campsite. Fenris would yell for weapons. Anders would drop everything into a bag, throw weapons to whoever needed them that did not have them on hand, and grab his staff. Fighting usually ensued moments later with raiders charging their small camp.

Anders dropped the grimoire into the open backpack, kicking the latch of the large drawer under the bed. He turned, pulling open the drawer. The dark smoke grey almost black aurum greatsword, Blade of Mercy, was almost too heavy for Anders to lift. Justice already stirred on the edges of his awareness, threatening control and teasing him with the extra strength Anders needed to throw the sword in Fenris' general direction. Fenris caught it easily one-handed and turned halfway to the stairs up to the deck. Anders pulled out a staff that was simple enough with a blade strapped along one end, spikes on the other, and runes carved down its length. It was a loan from Athenril. Anders' heart thudded fast in his chest at the rising panic that Templars had found them at sea and he would have nowhere to hide, that Justice might overpower his fragile control and might end up sinking both ships just to destroy the Templars.

Seeing the struggle with the fade spirit, Fenris turned back and took long strides to intercept Anders in the doorway of their small room. "Stop. Take a breath. It is a Tevinter ship." He hoped to calm Justice with the reassurance that this had nothing to do with Templars. Anders had so much trouble maintaining control since Hawke left, since the one thing that helped him maintain sanity was gone. Anders no longer had an anchor. Fenris pressed his free hand to Anders' chest, a reminder to the Fade Spirit that he could force control if he had to. Justice receded.

"Tevinter?" asked Anders, a bit confused. He frowned and stated with conviction, "They cannot have you!"

Someone at the stairs hissed in a loud whisper, "Quiet. We're passing them in the fog."

All hurried up the stairs and took battle positions as quietly as they could. Anders and Fenris stood on the upper deck with Athenril and her third commander, who was captain of the ship. "Fenris?" The elf turned his attention from the much larger looming shadow in the fog to Anders, whose hand was raised and glowing with the energy of spells yet to be cast. It wasn't the heat of battle yet, but it was close enough. He nodded and Anders cast the usual series of buffs upon him.

The ships were passing each other slowly and silently in the night. The Tevinter ship easily ten times larger than the small smuggling vessel. In a gap in the fog, the ship's logo showed clearly, a demon moved on the deck above. "A slave ship," Fenris rumbled.

"Demons," breathed Anders. "Why always the demon thing? Can't those people just say no?"

Fenris smirked. It was a common line Anders seemed to always say when they encountered blood mages allied with demons. His eyes tried to pierce the swirling fog that swallowed the nearby ship into obscurity once more. He was looking for the mage or magister, trying to plan where the person might be and who. He almost punched Anders when the mage gripped his arm hard. The lyrium pattern under the mages hand stabbed painfully to awareness. Magic coursed over his skin and along the lines, powerful magic flavoured like Anders yet not anything that had been cast on him before, a shimmer of white and green. Fenris cursed in Tevinter under his breath, "What the …"

"Darkspawn."

Anders' word chilled everyone to the bone who heard him. Why would there be darkspawn on a ship? What would a Tevinter magister be doing with darkspawn? Even they generally stayed away from them. Demons were predictable and controllable. Darkspawn never were as they followed only the ancient whisperings of cursed gods.

The wind started to pick up, but the sails were not down enough to catch it. It blew the thinning fog, exposing both ships to each other. Two abominations leaned over the rail of the Tevinter ship, those mages having already lost their control to the demons who knows how long ago. The sails fluttered, tattered, despite the obvious markings of a slave trade ship. The age of the ship a total unknown. Athenril and the captain started to shout commands. Crew climbed the rigging to release the sails. Demons manifested on the smaller ship's deck at the will of the abominations. Fenris leapt over the rail from the upper down to the lower deck, greatsword drawn and already dealing damage. A heavy plank dropped from the Tevinter ship, hooked on the end and catching the starboard side of Athenril's much smaller ship, rocking it. Skeletons poured from the huge slave ship. And thus the battle was begun. Athenril's people were ill equipped and ill trained for something like this.

Fenris shot a glance back to Anders now and then as he hacked apart foes. Anders stayed safely on the upper deck, casting defensive spells on crew and the occasional magical blast to blow back attackers. Sometimes the green of healing magic flew by to someone in need. Fenris had never realized how skilled Anders really was till now. Usually, they had fought as just a small group of about four. But this was a whole crew of about forty and then some. 'How does he know when to heal and who?' thought Fenris. He didn't waste time thinking much on that and assumed his own swiftly healing wounds were some of those same spells. Lyrium lit along his limbs adding speed and strength to his actions. Demons and shades and skeletons kept coming. So long as those mage-born abominations summoned them back to life, it could be an endless battle with the fallen elven crew being risen from the dead to fight their former crewmates.

Fenris decided to take the battle to them. "Cut me a path!" he yelled to Anders, pointing where with his sword that was as long as he was tall. A blast of magical energy shot up the plank to the Tevinter ship, throwing back one of the blood mages who was half-transformed by his demon. Fenris followed in its wake, blade cutting an equally bloody path to either side of him, his focus being any mage or abomination with the power to cast magic or summon anything. That fight ended unnaturally fast. Six dead magic users. The deck of the Tevinter ship seemed eerily devoid of crew. Because their corpses were fighting Athenril's people. The dead stopped rising. His elven ears heard cheers coming from Athenril's ship and the occasional call to claim the larger ship for their own. Fenris shook his head. If Anders sensed darkspawn, where were they? Did Athenril's people think they just fought darkspawn? Having seen the Deep Roads a few times with Hawke, he knew the difference. The difference in smell, in creature type, in fighting style. Darkspawn hunted. They didn't fight. The living were prey to feed their insatiable hunger. They moved like wasps from a disturbed hive, in unison, focused but without control or restraint.

Some of Athenril's men were boarding the larger ship now as Fenris prowled on his own hunt. He tried to ignore the squelch of rotting blood and fluids from the vicera of those he killed on deck, making the deck slick, dampened further by moisture from the fog. He grimaced as it squished up between his toes. He opened a hatch that he knew would lead down to the slave holds. The stench of death almost drove him back. Maybe the mage slaver of the ship had slaughtered the slaves for power? The glow from his tattoos offered some light in the darkness below deck. His own determination to free slaves urged him down, in case any might still be alive.

Fenris froze in place. A darkspawn ogre ripped through an old corpse, the bloated slave spurting in the Ogre's mouth. Fenris released the lyrium to be dark, a shadow in more shadows, in the hopes that he had not drawn the attention of the beast. That one glimpse of the slave pens told him more than he ever wanted to know. There were no slaves here, not any more, not for a very long time. Darkspawn had eaten many, blood magic had massacred others. And the rest… eyes that had long since lost the light of life, shining silver and pupil-less, turned in Fenris' direction. They dropped the body parts of their fellows that they had been gnawing upon as vibrant life smelled much better from the stairwell. "Oh shit." He fled, a horde of darkspawn on his heels.

"RUN! Burn the ship! BURN IT!"

An emissary of the darkspawn rose from another hatch. Fenris skidded, lyrium blooming bright over his skin. His path was blocked. He stood alone on the deck. "FENRIS! NO!" Ander's voice reached clearly to the elf's ears even as it ended in the echo of Justice. Magic, white and hot direct from the Fade hit the emissary, but not full on. It was enough. Fenris slices along its torso as he darted past, dodging the spray of black tainted blood. He knew he had wounds. He could not afford to become tainted. Anders magic tingled over him without any spell being cast. It was familiarly feeling as Anders' work, but distracting for a second. No, relieving. He was healing. And a magical barrier had automatically rose to deflect the tainted blood. THAT was new! He would have to ask Anders what magic that was and how… how is he healing him. He wasted no time and ran for the plank. He had to get to Anders before he was completely lost to Justice.

An arrow caught him in the side, then two more in the thigh. He hit the slimy gang plank face first, almost didn't make it across. A sailor grabbed his arm and dragged him over as they finally managed to release the grapples that held the two ships locked together. "Get me to Anders," he gritted his teeth, eyes already searching for the mage. This was so many to do magic for, to defend and heal. Justice must have grabbed the first moment of Anders' faltering strength. Not that Fenris wanted to complain. It saved his life and he liked living, thanks. He yelled from his gut as the sailor yanked out the arrows. Instantly, Fenris felt that healing again, rising up from nowhere, but tasting like Anders. Then it dawned on him. The spells Anders cast just before the battle. Something Anders said before Fenris had first left the room in search of Athenril, a bound healing. "Fool," he spat. "Fool Apostate!" He realized Anders must have bound his own mana and life force to Fenris to heal him as needed so he would not have to try to keep track of the elf. The wound in his side healed swiftly and smoothly, as did the first in his thigh. The less dangerous one healed mostly before the magic fizzled out. Not just the healing magic, but all the sustained magic that Fenris was used to feeling.

Sage green eyes snapped to the upper deck. Athenril, shouting orders from the stairs. The captain, gripping the wheel and steering the ship away from the Tevinter ship. The last vestiges of white light cutting through the hull of the Tevinter ship and lighting fabric into a magical inferno. Justice's Fade magic. A wave rushing up, and tilting the smaller boat as the larger one took in water and began to sink. No Anders. He was supposed to be right on the upper deck, casting from the railing. "The only way to release the spirit from me is if I die. And then, only maybe. He might just choose to keep my corpse like he did the last man he possessed." So, where was Anders? Where was Justice? Fenris literally threw the sailor off him about eight feet across the deck, lit his tattoos and bolted for the upper deck. If Anders was down, it could be mage shock from far over extending himself. He did not want to think Anders was dead, that dread was as forbidden an emotion as hope. Mage shock, though, could lead to death. And all for what? To heal Fenris? Why would the mage do something like that? Risk his life, give his very life force for him? He reached the upper deck to find Anders collapsed on the floor. He grabbed him and shook him, "You idiot! You Maker-be-damned IDIOT!"

The Tevinter ship tipped on its end and sank in a blaze. Darkspawn floating on the surface, some sinking. The small ship's sails finally unfurled and snapped taught as the wind filled them.

Fenris shook Anders again and again. "Stop," the mage moaned as warm amber eyes opened. "I'm… fine…" They rolled as he passed out.

"Like hell you are," Fenris breathed with far more relief than he expected. He stood, lifting the mage easily in his arms and carried him down to their room.

In their room, Fenris moved quickly. He laid Anders on the bed, and removed boots and mage coat, often checking the man's temperature and if Anders started to shake from shock. He piled all the blankets they had over him. Then sat hard on the floor with their backpack, digging out every bottle and vial of healing related potions till he found the one he sought. He scooped Anders' head into the crook of his arm and poured the vial down his throat. Anders coughed and gulped and coughed again. Fenris sat watching him after that, watching… and waiting. This was the part he hated most. The waiting and wondering. Under Danarius, he would secretly hope the mage under his care would die, assumed that if he had to do this again for any mage, the feelings would be the same. But they weren't. Would Anders slide into mage shock and die? Or would he sleep and recover his magic and live? There were many things Fenris would have done in this situation that he could not do here on a ship. Hot bath, hot meal. Either and both would be good to stave off the shock and ground Anders in the real world. Those were not options at the moment. So he sat… and waited… remembering the one and only other time this happened with Anders.