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Anders awoke to an empty bed. He slid a hand over the spot next to him and felt nothing but cold bedding. He flicked his eyes up to Fenris' pillow and noticed that it was smooth and pristine. No dent from the elf's head marred the surface. He rolled over onto his back and scrubbed at his bleary eyes with his palms.

By the time Anders had made it back to the keep, the sun had long since risen. Exhausted, he had stumbled to the room he shared with Fenris to find the elf hadn't returned yet. Fenris had left with Aedan, the two of them silent and saying very little as to what had happened with Danarius. That the magister was dead there was no doubt. The demons they had been battling had abruptly melted away, the fight ending without fanfare.

Aedan had allowed Anders to look at the arm that hung limply from his side while he gave short, but precise instructions. Fenris and Aedan would be returning immediately to the keep to check on Zevran. A bleakness appeared in the Warden-Commander's eyes when he mentioned his lover's name, but it disappeared so quickly, Anders wasn't sure if he had even seen it. He would dispatch wardens from the keep to cordon off the inn. They were to stay here and go through the building to make sure that Danarius hadn't left any nasty surprises. Once the wardens came and the building was secure, they could return to the keep to get some well earned rest.

Aedan had glanced up at the ceiling and sucked in a slow breath. "I want this place razed to the ground. I'll instruct the men I'm sending to salvage as much personal effects as they can to help identify bodies." He breathed a sigh of relief when the feeling returned in his arm and he rolled it at the joints, testing it.

"If the owner had heirs then they will be compensated for the loss of property, but I don't want any piece of timber to remain standing." He and Fenris shared a significant look. "Once you've seen the second floor, you'll know why."

He had then pointed at the unconscious woman on the floor. "I want that woman brought back to the keep. I don't care what condition she's in. Just make sure she can talk by this evening."

Unable to get back to sleep, Anders yawned and sat up in bed. He dislodged Pounce, who gave him a disgruntled mew as he rolled down the blanket to settle between Anders' legs.

Upon reaching the second floor, Anders had understood immediately why Aedan wanted the place destroyed. There was no salvaging what had been done to it. He had been able to make it as far as halfway down the hallway before his stomach had begun to rebel.

The bile in his throat had won the fight and he'd become sick in a corner when he reached the last room.

He had tried to talk to Fenris and check him over for injuries, but the elf had brushed him off, stating that he needed some air and he would see Anders back at the keep. That had hurt, but Anders wouldn't let the elf see it. If Fenris needed time, then Anders would give it to him.

Just not for long.

There was no lonely mansion to retreat to, and very little good wine to keep him company at the keep. Anders refused to allow Fenris to pull away from him. This wasn't Kirkwall and there were few places to hide in the keep. Anders should know. So when he saw the empty bed, he hadn't felt more than a twinge of worry, but now that it appeared that Fenris had not returned to the room at all, Anders was compelled to seek him out.

"This isn't going to be fun, Pounce, "Anders warned the cat as he slipped out of the bed and streatched. He grunted as stiff muscles protested the action. He had worn himself out, pushing his body harder than he had in a long while.

He could still taste the lyrium potions on his tongue, and he went to the water pitcher next to the wash basin to pour himself something to get rid of the lingering bitterness. Fighting and healing during the battle in the common room had taken every ounce of his skill. The demons had been relentless. When one would sink into the floor boards dead, another would take its place. Anders had never seen so many summoned at one time, and that included all of the blood mages he had fought along Hawke's side.

A particularly nasty Desire demon had given them the most trouble. Varric and Nathaniel of all people had almost fallen under its sway. It had promised them both the objects of their desire. Anders shook his head, still unable to believe that either one of them had hidden depths that entailed needs of the flesh so strongly, that a Desire demon would latch onto it. Varric had seemed particularly rattled by the encounter when she had disappeared along with the others when Danarius was killed.

"I don't want to know, Pounce. I really don't." Pounce stared at him as if to say, 'Oh, yes you do. Why are you lying?'

Anders combed his hair and wrapped a strip of leather around the strands he gathered to hold them back from his face. He had been too tired to do nothing more than strip his grimy clothes off, and let them fall forgotten on the floor before falling into bed. He grimaced at the dirt and blood that still clung to his skin, and was afraid to look back and see what a mess he had made of the bed. He dunked a cloth and a cake of soap into the wash basin and scrubbed at his body. If only he could cleanse the image of that room from his mind.

He and Velanna agreed that Danarius had not used the sacrifices to harm Zevran. There had been no time for a spell that complicated, and the quantity of demons that had risen would have used most of the power that Danarius had collected.

Anders slipped into his old clothes and felt comforted by their familiar weight. He sat on the bed and slid into his boots. Pounce bumped his head against Anders' back, and he paused to reach around and scratch at the cat's chin.

"Wish me luck, Pounce. I know you like having him here with us, even if it's just for the extra warmth at night." He stood and eyed the filthy sheets. "I'll come back with some new bedding too."

Fenris hadn't slept in over a day. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard Danarius and his pronouncement ringing in his ears. With his armor discarded next to him, Fenris sat on the cold floor of the dungeon in front of a locked cell. He had been here ever since they had dragged Varania in. His hands were draped over a bent knee, while the other leg was stretched out before him. He stared at the woman who lay unconscious on her side, willing her to awaken as he had for the past several hours. She occupied the cell Zevran had vacated the moment Aedan had assured himself that the elf was still alive.

It had been a little embarrassing to watch the two of them cling to each other. Aedan's hands had run over the elf, cataloguing each wound and bruise Zevran had. Zevran in return had whispered in a low murmur into Aedan's ear, reassuring the man that he was fine.

Aedan and Fenris had spoken very little on the hectic ride back to the keep. The brutal pace that Aedan set did not allow for much conversation. When Fenris did broach the subject of his sister, Aedan had replied that she was being held until the Arl of Amaranthine decided on a judgment concerning her crimes. He had ticked them off, the list growing longer with each breath. Attempted murder and murder came up several times.

Fenris pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead, in an attempt to ease the pressure that hunger and sleep deprivation had created. Everything was turned on its side. He had asked for what Danarius had done to him, and he was no closer to finding the answers that he needed. Danarius' voice haunted him, hounding his thoughts until they ran around in circles and he no longer knew what to believe. That the man would lie was a given. It would be just like him to show Fenris one last path to dance down merrily to his own destruction. But Fenris didn't think he had lied. Danarius had nothing left to lose, and his last words had been cruel enough.

His eyes dropped down to the flagstones, and he stared at them as if they could give him the answers he sought if only he looked hard enough. Why would the Chantry want to hunt him down? Why would the circles for that matter? What did he possess that they both would want to kill or use him for?

It was on the tip of his tongue, he could just feel it. He slid his fingers through his hair and gripped the strands tightly, just shy of painful. What did magisters and the Chantry want with…

And then he knew.

The force of the realization took the breath from his lungs. For a moment, he could have sworn his heart stopped before the organ sped up, thundering in his chest. His mind rebelled from the idea, but the more he thought on it, the more it made a horrifying sense.

There was only one thing that the templars, the Chantry, the circles and the magisters had in common. It existed in the Fade, and Fenris—Fenris—was the literal key, built in pain and lyrium to open the door that no mortal was meant to walk through.

The last time mortals had, they had caused the first blight.

Fenris knew now what he had seen in the doorway, and why Justice had said that he would kill Fenris if he ever came back to the Fade.

Danarius had found a way back into the Black City, and Fenris was the one that could unlock its gates.

A/N:

So I have had this in the works for a while now. It came to me for a few reasons. The chief of which was the description for one of Fenris' skills, Lyrium Ghost. It says, "While this mode is active, Fenris fades into a wraithlike state and becomes difficult to track on the battlefield." It got me thinking as to why that would be and why Danarius would have done that to him. I thought his motives would have been what all magisters want, power from the Black City.