Thank you so much to Fallon Idalia, Kira Tamarion, Pint-sized She-bear, MikoAbigail, , Dreister Dieb for all your reviews, time and enthusiasm! You guys are the gasoline that keeps this engine going, and I hope you enjoy the chapters to come!


"Oi, boy!" Shouted the voice of a man, impatient and irritated. Fenris opened his eyes and, upon realizing where he was, scrambled quickly to his feet. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. The door swung open and a guard threw a scroll in and onto the floor. Fenris scooped it off the ground and opened it, stepping into the hallway while the guard continued.

He unrolled the vellum and only saw strange markings all over it. "Wait!" He said, jumping after the guard.

The man spun on his heel and looked at Fenris disapprovingly. "What?"

"Can you... can you read this, please? To me?"

The guard laughed at him, and Fenris looked down at his feet in shame. But nonetheless, the guard ripped the letter from the elf's hands and unrolled it curiously.

Fenris stood still as stone, waiting. Up and down his arms were fresh markings, lyrium that had been poured into his skin and left to solidify. At their edges they cracked, and thanks to his sudden awakening, their scabs ripping open as blood seeped from the open wounds. His black hair felt dried and dead, and for days it had been coming out in clumps. He was in more pain than he ever could have imagined, but for short spurts of time he could focus and ignore it all. Now was one of those times.

The guard cleared his throat, as much of a slave as Fenris was, just one that was paid every so often when Danarius felt like giving up the coin. "Dear Leto," the guard began, rolling his eyes. "I don't know if this letter will reach you. I hope that it finds you well. I hope the best for you, as you know. I miss you, we all do. Your absence is a thing living that eats away at us all. Your mother is taking it hard, but your sister and I are managing her."

The guard stopped and sighed, irritated. But Fenris asked him to please continue, and he did. "Last week Varania told me that I'm with child. She was trying to heal me, because I've been sick, but she said that she could feel the child's energy. Do not worry, my love, the child will be taken care of. You've nothing to worry about. Varania may be able to find work as will I, pregnant or no.

"I miss you more than my heart can bear, sometimes. But you've taught me to be strong, and I still remember how to survive on the outside. We'll be fine. I pray to the Maker that you are safe and well and happy. Your sister and mother send all their love, as do I. I love you, my dear. Love, Astoria."

The guard rolled up the letter and grinned, maliciously. Fenris swayed on his feet.

"The wife's with child?" Prodded the guard, shoving the letter back into Fenris' hands. The man laughed and quirked an eyebrow. "Luckily for you, you're here, she can't cuckold you into caring for a bastard."

Fenris went rigid, though his new markings ached and throbbed up his arms, down his back and along his thighs. Tomorrow he'd be getting more on his chest, calves and neck. Fenris scowled at the man, clenching his fists and crumpling up the vellum.

"What are you implying?" He snarled.

The guard chuckled, as if this were extremely amusing to him. "Come now, why would a woman keep her legs shut in wait for an elven slave? I bet the bitch made you think she loved you just enough for you to set her free." The man guffawed upon seeing Fenris' dumbstruck expression and slapped his stomach in his laughter.

"Ah, you've been played for a fool, my friend -"

Fenris roared in pain as he ignited his markings, the hallway illuminating in an unearthly blue glow and leapt forward, plunging his fist into the man's chest and dragging it out, blood covering his hand. The guard choked on his own breath as Fenris took him by the neck and slammed him against the stone wall, bouncing his head off the stone again and again.

The man's body slumped to the floor before Fenris could comprehend what he had done. The man was speaking out of line, he knew that. Astoria had never been with another man, he was not worried about that. But rather he couldn't bear to hear her be disrespected so.

Now the rest of the guards would be coming for him soon, as soon as they saw the man's body in a heap on the floor. Fenris staggered away, deciding that he had to try to run. Danarius would kill him, he was sure of it. But not if he could get out first.

Fenris crept along the walls, as quietly as he could manage. Not three minutes later, he heard shouting – men running in their armor. Pressed against a shadow, Fenris listened and waited, and then realized they were coming for him, in the right direction.

He bounded off the wall and limped as fast as his wounds would allow. As he neared the entrance to the estate, he saw two guards chatting to each other, looking bored. When they saw him running at them, they readied their swords and started barking orders – to who, he wasn't sure. Fenris ducked and bowled into the guard to the right, letting his lyrium flare to life. He spun and hooked his arm around the guard's throat, using him as a shield as he backed up towards the door.

The other guard, with a look of pure dismay, kept shouting. And then Fenris realized something – there were orders not to kill him. The man he held hostage could have done it, for he still wielded a sword. Leto struggled to open the door behind him, and just as it creaked, he snapped the guard's neck and turned, running.

Immediately, it seemed, two men were upon him – guards posted on the outside of the door. How long could Fenris run? Where would he even go? How would he know where to find Astoria?

Someone was grabbing him, and Fenris crashed to the ground. He shouted in pain and swung frantically at the man that had tackled him. His lyrium was his only weapon, and he used it to crush the man's heart within his chest.

That was number ten. In his lifetime, Fenris had now killed ten people. He shivered and clawed his way to his feet.

Searing, ripping pain shot through him as a guard's blade sliced into his thigh. Fenris staggered and turned, feeling weary and weak. He bled all over, but he still managed to claw at the guard's face and crush his windpipe by punching him in the throat.

The man crumpled to the ground, clutching at himself, and Fenris grabbed his sword, though he knew in his state he wouldn't be able to do much with it. At least seven guards were sprinting towards him from different directions.

There was a hissing in the air then, suddenly Fenris fell to his knees, writhing in pain. Electricity jumped along his limbs and he was sure his heart stopped for a moment. And then he was getting shoved in the dirt, arms bound behind him, and getting yanked to his feet. Fenris spat out dirt and hung his head, defeated.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Danarius roared, and the sound of it made Fenris wince. He hadn't heard the magister shout at him, but by the sound of it now, he was livid. Fenris knew he'd rue this day, if he survived it.

"Speak, slave, or I'll have your tongue!" The back of Danarius' hand crashed into Fenris' face and snapped his head to the side. Fenris grimaced and kept his eyes low.

"I'm sorry, Master!"

Danarius wiped the back of his hand on his robes furiously. "What would possess you to attack my guards, you little shit?!"

"I discovered my wife is with child, Master – one of the guards called her a whore, and I reacted poorly. Frightened, I ran."

Danarius narrowed his eyes at the elf before him. "You are lucky that you were able to withstand these," he said, jabbing a finger painfully at one of his markings, making him wince in pain, "or I'd have your head on a spike and send it to your precious wife, rotting with maggots and flies."

Fenris groaned as another blow fell across his face. "Is this going to be a problem, Fenris? This wife of yours? Do I need to find and kill her, or can you act like a man and accept your duty? You came to me willingly – and I have you now. You chose to come here!"

The thought of it made his heart twist painfully in his chest, aching. Danarius wouldn't do such a thing, would he? "This will not be a problem, Master."

Danarius frowned and shook his head, turning. "I don't believe you. Remember her now, Fenris, because after today, she will be unfamiliar to you, you ungrateful shit."

What did that mean? Fenris felt a panic rushing through him, rattling his bones. "What?" He sputtered, not meaning to, but he couldn't keep his words in. "No, no, no, no, don't-"

A whip cracked, and Fenris yelped as the skin on his shoulder was split open. Blood streamed down his body all over.

Danarius looped the whip in his hands and curled his lip at the sight before him. His sneer was a thing from the darkest depths of the Fade. "Bring him to my lab. He won't know his name by the time I'm finished."


There were no drums, no trumpets blaring to signify the beginning of battle. As an early night began to fall upon the jungle to the south of Minrathous, the rebellion stirred and stretched and tried to calm their nerves. A sentry had run back to camp not ten minutes ago, sprinting to Hollan and warning him of a nearby magister on the road.

Hollan and Garsen had split up to gather a group of soldiers to attack the magister's caravan. Garsen made a beeline for Fenris, who stood tightening the blue scrap of the sari around his wrist. Beside him was Astoria with her hands on her hips, chewing her bottom lip. On the other side of her stood Varania with Solara sleeping against her chest. She looked frightened half-to-death, which is indeed how she had been since they left Minrathous four days ago.

Fenris wiped away the layer of drizzle that had gathered on his forehead. It was uncharacteristically cold that day, and it had rained three times. With or without the rain, it was a welcomed respite from the heat. Still, Fenris was covered in mud up to his knees and feeling downright sour. A heavy fog had slowed them substantially, along with the thickening jungle.

How far ahead was Hunter, Fenris wondered. Astoria's brother had left Minrathous the night before they had, going ahead to secure some passage home, and he'd be leaving with or without his sister.

"Astoria, Fenris, we'll need your help," Garsen's voice startled Fenris out of his thoughts. It was a wonder they had drifted at all, considering what was happening around him.

Astoria nodded and flexed her fingers on the hilts of her daggers. She turned, and so did Garsen before he paused and squinted at Varania.

"You too," he told her with authority. Varania's eyes went wide as she wrapped her frail arms around her sleeping infant.

"Me?"

Garsen nodded, lacking sympathy. "You're a mage, aren't you?"

"Yes, but -"

Garsen narrowed his eyes critically, and Fenris watched the exchange with intensity. Would Varania help them and step out of her comfort zone?

"Who will watch her?" Varania stroked Solara's head.

"Give her to Avanna, she had a baby of her own once. Avanna!" The tavern server from Minrathous scurried over like a mouse, her eyes flitting around the scene before her. Her dress was gathered in her hands to keep the bottom of it from getting wet in the mud, but even still the fabric was stained and heavy.

"What is it?" Avanna asked.

"Take the infant until we're back."

Avanna and Varania stared at each other for a moment, Avanna more curious than anything, until Varania handed her her child and frowned, clutching her staff to her.

"But if I..." Varania could not finish the sentence.

"You won't," Astoria assured her, "we'll keep you safe. Just fire from behind someone."

Varania's inward struggle was evident, even after they left the camp with a group of twenty other soldiers to ambush the caravan. Fenris ignored it, which was easy because his thoughts were focused on Astoria.

Nightly they would join together, to Fenris' pleasure. It left him tired, but he wouldn't complain. He found himself busy with her, between their night watch shifts and trying to sleep, but with every day a small sense of dread swelled up in him. When they found Lysander, if they found Lysander, would she be so heartbroken that she wouldn't find it in herself to love him or care for him anymore? In the wake of the disaster that befell her child, would she be able to find humanly pleasure with him?

These were thoughts that had kept Fenris busy for days. But as they descended through the jungle, a small horde of soldiers thirsty for blood moving as silently as they could manage, Fenris found his thoughts focused on the present. His breathing came and went noiselessly. Astoria walked beside him, her fingers clenched tightly around the hilts of her daggers. Her blue sari was wet and hung damp over her face. Varania walked behind them, and Fenris could hear her breathing nervously, her footsteps falling just a bit too erratically, anxiously, if that could be a way to describe it.

The thick fog left much to the imagination, Fenris realized. He saw several lesser warriors and soldiers twitching and turning their gaze to unseen things in the distance. They were men living in fear, as if an axe would drop on their heads at any moment. But Fenris knew the feeling, and he was not one to condemn slaves, of all things.

The jungle gave away to a field, the grass dark and thick in the early evening. Astoria abandoned her daggers at her hips and drew out her bow, cocking an arrow on it as they crossed the field.

The sound of hooves clapping against a dirt road littered with stones reached Fenris' ears, and the ears of everyone else traveling with him. He could hear the shuffling of iron armor, the rattling of steel swords in their metal-ringed sheaths, of mail rustling underneath plated chest-pieces and pauldrons.

A handful of soldiers including Eshan, went sideways as if to attack the magister's caravan from the other side. Silence ensued among the rebellion and Fenris held his palms against his thighs, waiting to reach for his sword, fearing the sound the armor on his gauntlets would make, or the sound of the blade sliding out of the sheath.

Hollan crossed in front of Fenris towards Varania and whispered something in her ear, before walking to his original spot. Fenris glanced at his sister.

Varania's expression struggled between fear and focus. Fenris had seen it before. It was the expression Hawke had had before dueling the Arishok. It was the expression men had before making a leap, a leap that could kill them. Her copper hair clung to her brow, her eyebrows knitting together in concentration, her mossy gaze planted on the shadow of an outline, a ghostly promise of a caravan – the magister and his guards, his slaves and servants, and horses.

In her right hand, she twisted her staff, digging it into the soft terrain as she lifted her other hand, trembling, to her temple and brushed away her hair. Out of the corner of his eye, Fenris saw Hollan gesture – the signal to attack.

There was a moment that seemed to slow and stretch. Varania's almond-shaped eyes narrowed and she sucked in a breath, and in another second she appeared a sorceress.

If Fenris was powerful as a warrior, the same could be said for his sister in the skill of magic. Directly in front of her, as she held out a hand with her palm skyward, a fireball appeared out of nothing it seemed. Fenris vaguely wished that the caravan would not be able to see it, but that would be a futile hope.

The cackling ball of flames expanded, as if hungry, devouring the empty space around it. The ball of fire grew to the size of Solara, a hot hissing sound emanating from its center. Varania's red hair whirled from her face as if wind pushed at her, and she drew her arm back. The ball of flames arched through the air, sailing like a deadly spear, and crashed into the mass of shadow in front of them.

On impact there was an explosion and flames spurted forth from the center of the fireball, as if all the power of the element had been concentrated and unleashed like dynamite.

And then time seemed to find its legs. Men – guards, slaves, servants all began shouting and screaming in a hasty attempt to gain their bearings as the side of a double-decked wooden carriage began to catch fire. The horses screamed in fear, the men of the rebellion rang out in their battle cries, and Fenris was drawing his sword and running at the explosions as a man wrapped in his black cloak, his blade slicked with drizzle. Fire rained all around him.