Danarius stared up at the ceiling, counting the stains. He had been in filthy places before, but this must be one of the worst. How did one get stains on the ceiling anyway? One dark spot looked like old blood. How peculiar.

He cast a sideway glance at one of his hirelings, who was watching the room beneath the stairs. The man shook his head to indicate nothing was happening yet. Danarius scratched his beard. He could only hope that he would not have to stay long in this disgusting hovel.

The squeaking door that gave entrance to the Hanged Man opened and closed loudly. A woman's voice sounded. "It really is you."

Danarius listened intently and jumped up when he heard a familiar voice. The voice of the person he was here for.

"Varania? I... I remember you. We we're playing in our master's courtyard while Mother worked. You called me..."

He did not need the gestures of the hireling to know who had just walked in. Finally, my wolf. He held up a hand to let his men know they had to wait. Downstairs, Varania, who was sitting at a table in the middle of the room, replied to Fenris: "Leto. That is your name."

"What's wrong? Why are you so..."

"It's a trap!"

Danarius gave a nod to his soldiers before he walked around the corner and began to descend the stairs. A tall man with dark red hair and beard seemed to have spoken those last words. How observant.

"Ah, my little Fenris," Danarius said cheerily. "Predictable as always."

Ooh, the look of absolute horror on the dear thing's face was priceless! So easy to trust when family entered the picture, so easy to fool... Too bad for him Danarius was long since past amusement.

Varania apparently suffered a light attack of guilt. "I'm sorry it came to this, Leto."

Fenris took a quick step towards her, his head held forward like a mad animal. "You led him here!"

Danarius had reached the bottom of the stairs and now took position on Varania's left. "Now, now, Fenris," he spoke calmly, using his favorite tactic to appear completely at ease and full of confidence. His attitude suggested everything was already lost. No need to waste time and fight. "Don't blame your sister. She did what any good Imperial citizen should."

He let his eyes drift over Fenris and his companions. Fenris' new master, the man with dark red hair, was standing next to Fenris. Behind them were a Rivaini woman dressed like a cheap prostitute, and a dwarf who was showing an impressive amount of chest hair. This is the company the little wolf has been keeping? A Fereldan barbarian, a Rivaini prostitute and a dwarf? What kind of freakshow is this?

Before him, Fenris growled. "I never wanted these filthy markings, Danarius! But I won't let you kill me to get them."

How adorable ignorance can be. He chuckled softly. "How little you know, my pet." He decided to turn his attention to - hopefully - someone of a bit greater intellect. The auburn-haired man next to Fenris was looking intently at Danarius. His jaw and fists were clenched. The icy eyes of the man managed to raise a few hairs on the back of Danarius' neck. Don't worry, he told himself. This barbarian is no match for me. "And this is your new master then?" he said, meeting the cold, hard look of the other. "The Champion of Kirkwall." To his satisfaction, he registered surprise in the Champion's eyes. Another fool, clearly, that he would think someone like Danarius would show up unprepared. "Quite lovely."

The brow of the Champion lowered. "Fenris doesn't belong to anyone," he said threateningly.

"Do I detect a note of jealousy?" Danarius taunted. "The lad is rather skilled, isn't he?"

The reaction of both Fenris and the Champion was worth this cheap jest. His pet's whole body was trembling with barely restrained anger. Blue light emanated from him as his markings came to life. "Shut your mouth, Danarius!" he yelled.

The Champion's head snapped to the left, to Fenris, at this vicious reaction. My, my, Fenris. Have you not informed your new master of all your previous experience? Surely such a recommendation would be appreciated. Or are you suddenly ashamed of your old master? Cast me aside, like an ungrateful dog? I don't think so. I will teach you some respect again.

Sighing, Danarius took his staff from his back. He noticed that the Champion immediately did the same. "The word is 'master'," he corrected Fenris with irritation.

Wait, the same? Why was this warrior carrying a staff?

His soldiers already jumped forward to face the group of freaks while Danarius retreated back up the stairs to oversee the fight.

Four against four. The prostitute, now swinging two daggers around, and the dwarf, who was holding a crossbow, would no doubt go down within seconds.

The four soldiers decided to focus on the Champion first. Holding their swords in front of them, they closed in on the man. Without taking a step back, the Champion moved his staff... and froze all four of his opponents in a wall of ice.

An apostate. How could this be? Danarius had seen the statue himself when he had arrived at the docks. Its burning sword had lit the street during the night. It had been the statue of a knight, a warrior. Why would a city ruled by templars place a statue for a mage? He suddenly understood a bit better what had caught Hadriana by surprise and had overwhelmed her. Bah, how could he have fallen for this as well! He now could clearly sense the magic in the man. Earlier he had not paid attention because the Champion barely seemed to pose a threat. Ah well. He had enough tricks up his sleeve. He was still a Tevinter magister. He had survived a year of war with the Qunari. This small group would not take him down.

Downstairs, Fenris leaped into the air, sword above his head, and crushed two of the frozen men with a single blow. A well-placed bolt from the dwarf's crossbow put an end to a third, and the prostitute slid the throat of the last one. With an irritated gesture, Danarius ordered the rest of his men, who had been hiding in a few empty rooms upstairs, to do their work.

Their heavy-armored boots stomped on the steps of the stairs as they stormed towards the prostitute, guessing her to be the easiest target. The man who reached her first lashed out with his blade to cut through her unprotected abdomen. A dagger blocked the sword. The Rivaini ducked under it, raised her other dagger and plunged it in the man's chest through a vulnerable point in his armor. "Too slow!" she cackled as she withdrew the bloodied weapon.

She would have been hit by another soldier if the dwarf had not fired a bolt right between his eyes. The force of the bolt made the already dead man collapse against a colleague who was just jumping forward. Brought off balance, he slipped in the pools of blood that were forming on the floor and fell on his back. He was beheaded by Fenris before he had the chance to even attempt to get back up.

"Another one for me! How many have you got, Hawke?" the dwarf shouted.

As an answer, the Champion shot a concentrated ball of fire at the three remaining soldiers. Their agonized screams resonated through the room as their flesh melted off their bones in their armor.

"I've already lost count," he shouted back. "But that's three in one!"

Furious, Danarius concentrated on the thin spot in the Veil he had sensed in the room. With little effort he tore it, allowing various shades and a rage demon to escape from the Fade and slip into this world.

The party of four immediately focused on the roaring rage demon. The Champion froze the fire creature, after which the dwarf shot a bolt out of his crossbow, Fenris swung his blade through the form of lava, and the prostitute thrust both daggers in it, all simultaneously. The demon let out a last growl before it sunk through the floor, back into the Fade.

The shades did not fare better. They were scorched, crushed, cut in half, shredded, pierced and torn apart, one by one. With each that was destroyed, Danarius felt his power dwindle a bit more. But he was not defeated yet. He would not be defeated. In the rush of battle, he focused on the tear in the Veil, pulled at it, made it bigger. This place was old. It had a history, a history of blood and death. Lives had been taken here. And yes, the remains of many were slumbering underground. The next demons that entered the mortal world were guided to those remains, so that they did not have to invest energy in creating a somewhat physical form for themselves.

The first dried out arm burst through the wooden floor. A second arm followed, then a head. Unsteadily, the corpse pulled itself up. It moved its arms experimentally, turned its empty eye sockets towards Fenris, and started shambling in his direction. Across the room, more corpses followed its example.

Taking advantage of the distraction the rather weak undead provided, Danarius tightened the hold on his staff, bowed his head, closed his eyes and let his magic build up. A light pink orb formed in the center of the room. Its contours were hazy due to the pressure that was rising inside it. His feet rose from the ground as the force continued to increase. Danarius took a deep breath and allowed the pressure to escape at once. His feet made contact with the floor again at the same time as the pink orb exploded. Fenris, the Champion, the prostitute and the dwarf were sent flying across the room, along with a set of undead.

With delight, Danarius surveyed the result of his effort. The dwarf was blown with his back against a wall. He fell limply, with his face to the ground. The Rivaini prostitute ended up at the other side of the room, near the entrance. She was already trying to get back up, but her swift way of moving had abandoned her for the moment. The Champion smacked his head against the point of a table. Danarius was slightly disappointed. A few inches lower, and he would have lost an eye. Now the man's head was bleeding from a gash above his brow. The force of the collision had made him lose grip on his staff.

And Fenris. Ah, Fenris. His pet had been blown off his feet, just like the others. He lay as a disheveled heap against a large column in the middle of the room that supported the ceiling. Ironically, his own sword had wounded him in the violent landing. Had he let go the moment of the explosion, it would probably have fallen elsewhere without doing any damage, but his survival instinct had forced him to hold onto it. And so the tip of the sharp steel had pierced his right foot and nailed it to wooden floor. Because he had been surrounded by the possessed corpses before the blast, most were lying close to him. A convenient - or inconvenient, depending which side you were on - thing about undead was that they do not experience pain and were therefore not bothered by any damage done to them until they literally fell apart. Ignoring the possible damage the blast had caused, the things clawed their way to their victim. The one closest to Fenris had lost its weapon and thus decided to sink its rotten teeth in his neck instead. The howl of pain the disobedient wolf let out was satisfyingly loud.

At the same time the Champion pushed himself up on his knees. The cut in his head was bleeding heavily now, as head wounds always do, and blood ran in his eyes, forcing him to search blindly for his staff. The dwarf's skull turned out to be thicker than expected, because he had not lost consciousness after all and was now reloading his crossbow. The prostitute had similarly recovered and threw herself on the undead surrounding Fenris. Lightning quick she ran her daggers through one after the other. Fenris's markings lashed out with spirit force, knocking the attacking corpses back. He then gritted his teeth and withdrew the heavy greatsword from his own foot.

Even from his spot on the top of the stairs Danarius could see that his wolf was suffering from his injuries. He was bleeding out of numerous superficial cuts caused by the claws of the shades and the rusted weapons of the undead. The bite mark in his neck was bleeding too, as was a wound at the back of his head caused by the impact with the column. The dark red formed a sharp contrast with the white of his hair and the blue of his markings. And yet, as with any animal that was wounded and felt threatened, it only seemed to fuel his anger. The look of pure hatred he sent Danarius before he cut one of the undead in half was strong enough to make the magister's confidence waver for the first time. He clearly felt his powers draining, and the four people below him were still alive, each looking equally dangerous now.

Just on time Danarius noticed the dwarf aiming his weapon at him. He was able to raise a protective shield around himself before the crossbow bolt could hit him in the chest. It now bounced off without doing any harm.

Damn all of his informants! Why had they all failed to tell him the Champion was a mage? Someone would pay for this!

The shield sucked up his remaining power fast. He felt beads of sweat form on his temples. While Fenris and his comrades were dealing with the last undead, Danarius let the barrier dissolve and gathered his remaining willpower for another blast. This one would shatter their bones! He led his attention to the center of power within himself. His chin sank to his chest, he closed his eyes. His body rose into the air until his feet no longer made contact with the ground. The pink orb was growing, already shimmering with the force that was drawn in.

An invisible force slammed against him from behind, sending him flying off the stairs, head first. He landed hard on his face. Painting, he tried to get up. He managed to get on his knees before Fenris was suddenly there and grabbed him by the throat with one hand, lifting him up until his feet were dangling above the ground once more.

Danarius made a strangled sound while the markings on Fenris' body started to shine brighter and brighter. No, it cannot end like this! I cannot be defeated by this small gathering of freaks! After everything I have been through, everything I have survived... How can you do this to me, my pet? My Fenris...

"You are no longer my master!" Danarius eyes bulged, his mouth hung open helplessly; sweat dripped from his face and tears leaked from his eyes, right before Fenris' free hand dived into his chest, found the wildly beating heart, and tore it loose in less than a few seconds.

He was breathing hard. Blood was pounding in his ears. His vision was blurry at the edges. He let the lifeless body of his former master fall on the floor. The heart he threw away, somewhere behind him, without looking. Almost surprising to find a heart there. Part of him had suspected to only feel an empty space in Danarius' chest where his heart should be. But his master had had a heart, pumping frantically. And he had torn it from his chest. Finally.

It did nothing to soothe Fenris' anger. Hunched forward, every fiber of him radiating aggression, he turned to the woman cowering near the stairs. Varania. His sister. A traitor.

As he neared, the fingers of his right hand dripping with warm blood, she held up her hands protectively. As if her slender arms formed any barrier for him!

"I had no choice, Leto."

How dared she use that name! He was not Leto. He was not that person anymore, and he was nothing to her. "Stop calling me that," he growled.

Her next words nearly made him fall over. "He was going to make me his apprentice. I would have been a magister."

A mage. Varania was a mage. His sister was a mage. Another viper! She had betrayed him, sold him out, just to become like the man he hated the most. She wanted to be a monster. Well, she was on the right track. And he would give her the end monsters deserved to get.

"You sold out your own brother to become a magister?"

She lowered her hands. Most of her fear seemed to ebb away and was replaced by resentment at the disgust in his voice. "You have no idea what we went through," she said. She spoke slowly, as if she wanted to make sure every word came through to him. "What I had to do since Mother died. This was my only chance."

"And now you have no chance at all." His anger made the lyrium in him come back to life. This treacherous bitch was not his family. She had wanted to be one of the magisters, wanted to be like Hadriana and Danarius. And so she was no better than them. Of everything they had done to him, her betrayal must be one of the worst. He had wanted to have a family, a place to belong, so badly... and she had placed her hunger for magic and its power above the bond of blood the shared. She had to die. They all had to die!

Her arms shot back up. The fear had returned. Good. Be afraid. You monsters should learn to fear your victims.

"Please... don't do this," she begged. "Please, tell him to stop!" He barely registered her words. Nothing she said could save her. Betraying him was the last thing she had done. Hatred fogged his mind. She would pay for hurting him!

"Wait!" Another voice, one that did reach him. "Don't kill her."

He glared over his shoulder at Hawke. One side of Hawke's face was smeared with blood. A cut above his left eyebrow was still bleeding. "Why not?" Fenris snarled. "She was ready to see me killed." He turned back to Varania. "What is she to me other than just one more tool of the magisters?"

Hawke sounded a little uncertain when he answered, his voice careful and pleading. "She is as much a victim as you were." A victim? She?! She is just another monster!

Then Varric stepped forward. "Elf... Fenris..," he began, "It won't help. Trust me."

No. They could talk all they wanted. She had to die! She had to pay for what she had done to him. She had to die for betraying him like this. She had to... He stared at her lowered head, the flaming orange hair in a bun at the back of her head. His anger subsided, leaving only a gaping emptiness behind.

"Get out!" he snapped. His sister raised her head in surprise before she ran in the direction of the door. Fenris did not watch her leave. He kept staring at the place Varania had just stood, listening to her footsteps, waiting for the sound of the door.

The running footsteps stopped. He did not hear the door. Instead, Varania spoke. "You said you didn't ask for this, but that's not true. You wanted it. You competed for it. When you won you used the boon to have Mother and I freed."

Every word from her mouth felt like a poisonous knife that sank deep into his flesh. The meaning of those short sentences were blows that threatened to bring him to his knees. You wanted it. You competed for it. With these words, Varania shattered all his beliefs, his very perception of the world and of himself. You said you didn't ask for this, but that's not true. He had wanted this. He had fought for it. Fought for his misery. Everything he had believed turned out to be a lie.

He turned his head, looked over his shoulder. "Why are you telling me this?" He could not help it that his voice sounded pained. He could not prevent that he was visibly shaking.

Varania went on. "Freedom was no boon. I look on you now and I think you received the better end of the bargain." With that, she turned her back on him and walked away. Away from the shards that used to be his life.

After a moment of silence he looked at Hawke. "I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging, but I was wrong," he said softly. "Magic has tainted that too. There's nothing for me to reclaim." Danarius had taken everything after all. Even his family. His voice broke. "I am alone."

Hawke shook his head. "Magic had nothing to do with this, Fenris."

Of course a mage would not accept the truth about what magic could destroy. What has magic touched that it doesn't spoil? The old words rang inside his head. They were true. Every time they turned out to be true. It was enough to rekindle a bit of anger. "No? Greed for it didn't bring Danarius here, make my sister betray me?" He took a step closer to Hawke. "You heard what Varania said. I wanted these." He stretched out his arms, to show the now white patterns in the skin. "I fought for them. I feel unclean, like this magic is not only etched into my skin, but has also stained my soul." After all, he had been touched by magic as well. According to Varania, he had craved its power and had fought to gain it. He had been just like the people he hated.

When Hawke did not say anything in return, he started walking - or rather: limping - towards the exit. "Let's go. I need to get out of here."