Chapter 4: Memory Off the North Road

As they hiked out along the road south, they kept fairly silent. There were a great many travelers, and the open plains on either side of the road provided no cover. It took three days to reach the North Road. It ran West to East from Lake Calenhad to Denerim. They avoided the inns and the road entirely. They struck out south into the Bannorns.

Fenris studied his new map when they sat in their meager campsite in scrap of woods. "The Anderfels are far north of here in the wastelands and mountains just west of Tevinter. How is it a Bann of Fereldan? It is not part of the Bannorns and is large enough to be a country all its own."

Anders looked up from the little pot he stirred over their small fire. "Because it is such a wasteland, ruined by the Fourth Blight. It is harsh cold living with poor farming. Mostly there are sheep and goat herding up on the mountains. But due to their limited resources, they had to petition for inclusion under the protection of the Fereldan Kings in order to survive. They also provide the fiercest warriors on the Tevinter boarder with their severe hatred of magic and fanatic devotion to the Chantry. I hate every stone there and never want to go back."

Anders doled out the simple stew he made. "Fenris, you've been real quiet since our encounter at that inn. Are you angry with me for what I did?"

"No."

Anders rolled his eyes dramatically. "You promised me you would answer my questions."

"And I did. I am not angry with you. Your actions were short of brilliant, even if they violated my person and even though you could have but didn't ask my permission, just assumed that I would not agree with your plan. I am not angry with you. You saved both our lives. I would rather you have a bit more faith in me and ask me before you do something like that." Fenris ate while Anders briefly gaped. "My silence is because I think I know who that magister was. I am sure I have seen him before. But it is part of my lost memories and that frustrates me. I am trying to remember something just beyond recollection."

"Oh." Anders squirmed uncomfortably a moment then turned his attention to his bowl of stew.

Fenris had been struggling internally for those memories. They were there, just on the edge…. He had been so quiet because he knew he would be snarly otherwise. They had almost a whole week without any form of argument and he hoped to keep it that way.

That night in their shared tent, the memory finally came to him.

~ooOOoo~

Danarius stroked his grey-streaked beard as he peered down from a balcony overlooking the small training arena. He turned to his guest, a magister with a thin line of a mustache, and remarked, "He is turning out to be one of my finest."

"Did you breed him? May I perhaps make use of your stud for one of my vessels?" Octalian watched with appreciation.

The elf below fought hard against the beast that Danarius had summoned. He was clawed down his forearm. His shirt was torn in several places. Blood soaked and streaked the sand dusted stone floor. His lip curled up on one side as he snarled, showing a fang. Rusty auburn hair fell into his eyes. A flick of his head flung it free from view and he charged the roaring monster again.

Danarius smiled. "His breeding stock was very carefully chosen. Sadly, I cannot spare the stud. I have entered the stud into an experiment with a few others I think will help pave the way for a new brand of guard dog."

Octalian raised a brow. "You are not the only one trying the lyrium branding of Arlathan. I have heard of others. It is a foolish waste of resources."

The bearded chin nodded to someone on the other side of the area. A guard stepped from the shadows and threw in a huge and heavy two-handed broad sword nearly as tall as the young fierce elf below. "I don't think so. You need only use the very purest of breeds with no inbreeding. Aim for solid bones, longer limbs, and no indent to the bridge of the nose. Makes for more intelligent slaves and strong fighters."

"Makes for impulsive and unruly gladiators that try to turn on you. Crossbred with a half-elf or a half dwarf makes for more controllable guard dogs that are just as strong."

Danarius chuckled mildly as he watched the elf below struggle with the new blade. "Makes for a willful creature yes. But my Leto will be quite the little wolf when I am done with him."

"RAAAAAWWWWWRRGG!" With unreasonable determination, Leto lifted the blade and fought on. The beast hit him and he slid back several feet, leaving two bloody streaks on the stone floor. He panted hard and held the blade in one hand, crouching to touch the floor with the other for balance as he plotted how to kill the creature before him.

"Leto?" asked Octalian. His breath caught in amazement as the elf, huge sword in one hand, managed to slice through the monster. "Hm. Leto means 'I Kill', does it not? Well named after all."

"Little Wolf," Danarius called down as Leto looked up. "Drop the sword and get cleaned up. You have earned the place you asked for your mother and sister to work in the main estate's gardens."

"That was not what I asked!"

"Leto," Danarius' tone darkened to something warning and dangerous.

The elf dropped his eyes.

"One step at a time. Please me, serve me well, and they will have their freedom."

The elf raised his eyes again at the word freedom. He nodded with determination. "Am I the only one you are considering?"

Danarius slid a glance to Octalian before replying, "No. But only one will earn the chance to be one of my best and marked as such."

"I WILL DEFEAT THEM!"

The older magister nodded his approval. "If you do, if you survive, then I will grant your boon."

Danarius smiled to Octalian as they both turned away from the rail and entered a solarium from the balcony as if the arena did not exist. "See Octalian? All you need to control such an unruly slave is to find the one thing he values more than his own life and allow it to be the bait for your mutual goal. Leto will do anything for me for their freedom. He knows the branding might kill him. And to free two relatively useless slaves to have the very best stock for my experiment is worth the price."

~ooOOoo~

Fenris woke suddenly panting as if he were once more back in that private arena. Octalian. That was the name of the magister. A younger man who regarded his slaves worse than Danarius and who was much crueller. However his power was not as great as Danarius' and the man constantly tried to curry favor in some way, often seeking out artifacts for that very purpose. And so he was here in Fereldan and lost one such artifact to the Templars.

Fenris wondered if the Templars confiscated it for the protection of other or for some nefarious means of their own. He glanced over at Anders twitching in a troubling dream. It would have to be for nefarious purposes, he decided. He could never forget the scarring he saw upon Anders' body, the word apostate carved in by two different people. He turned on his side and listened to the silence of the night, then soothed Anders back to peaceful sleep.

A/N: This chapter was inspired by maloneyberry's art on deviantart: DA2-Leto-263444215