Thank you so much to Fallon Idalia, Wicked Lullaby, Fenris's Lover, Pint-sized She-bear, MikoAbigail, Kira Tamarion, Dreister Dieb for all your reviews, time and enthusiasm! Almost all of you have told me about your hopes for this story big and small - and I'm definitely not planning on leaving anything without any closure, especially if I've gotten you attached to someone.

Fenris's Lover - I use Google translate and basically just use Latin for my version of Arcanum, it's about as close as I'm gonna' get I believe. =)

Also to everyone - I'm going camping for a few days with no electricity/water and then it's the hubby's boyfriend so I won't be able to write for a little while. However, I think by the time I get back I'll be so excited to get writing it'll only take another couple of days.

Thank you so much to everyone for reading my little story so far - it's been a long journey so far, and I understand the slow buildup can be frustrating (but I personally think it's worth it in the end). I will continue and I hope you guys continue to enjoy my story.


Maroon.

When regular men saw red, as the saying goes, Fenris saw maroon. Nothing quite ignited his anger like maroon. It was the color he saw in his nightmares, and in his dreams of revenge. It was the color that had chased him for years, the color that men had worn to punish him. It was all he saw as he raced over the soft ground, splashing into a puddle of mud in the road, shoulder to shoulder with Hollan, vaguely aware of Astoria behind him.

Fenris saw maroon and knew that he would have no trouble differentiating between his enemy and ally. The first guard he encountered, a stout man with long whiskers, hadn't even seen him coming for him. Maroon was the clothing he wore, seen through the openings in his armor, the color of the greaves he wore, the sash around his waist.

Fenris stained the man's maroon with red, slicing him fatally in the stomach before he had a chance to even draw his blade. Vaguely, Fenris thought that he could enjoy this, could make a life out of hunting slavers had he not a wife and child.

Fenris wrenched his sword out of the man's limp body on the ground. He wouldn't dare use his markings in this fog – it'd make him too much of a target. So Fenris stepped back and surveyed the scene around him.

Their ambush was working. Hollan had just slit a guard's throat, and was parrying with another. Astoria swung her bow over her head and into the unarmored skull of a guard, making him stumble and fall into the mud. A guard somehow slipped behind her and threw an arm around her throat, putting her in a sleeper hold.

Before he could do anything for her, a guard charged him, a dual-wielder in a full suit of armor. The man was fast, with two lighter blades, but Fenris prided himself on being fast as well. But the man was quite a match and after several parries, it took the help of Hollan's blade to bring the man down.

Fenris shifted his gaze to Astoria, panicked. She kicked out frantically at the man behind her. He lifted her up off the ground, her neck in his elbow, and Fenris felt his stomach plummet. In a moment he was bounding towards her. The man pivoted and threw Astoria to the ground. Fenris lit up his markings in his approach, snarling like a mad wolf. The man, the guard, had been too startled to even fight against Fenris.

Fenris threw the man's heart to the ground, disgusted by it. It had not felt good enough to rip out his beating heart where he stood. Not that man.

Fenris knelt in the mud beside Astoria, dropping his sword to the ground beside him. He had hoped Hollan, in the midst of it all, would fend off any enemies until he could get his wife to her feet. Fenris hadn't even been able to throw his arms around her shoulders, too shocked and appalled at her bruised throat, the way she coughed and choked, to see or hear the men closing in upon him.

It had only taken a few seconds for him to be overwhelmed. His markings had done it. Fenris cursed them as he had before. With them he was a beacon in the fog, a lighthouse in the storm, a fire on a cold night. All the guards of the magister had seen him use them.

One guard stepped around behind Astoria and made a fist in her hair, on top of her scalp. Fenris felt a dizzying blow to his shoulder just as he was to leap to her defense. He shouted out in pain and crumpled from the impact of the hammer. Then he felt arms closing tight around his own arms, hauling him towards his feet.

Fenris screamed as the guard with Astoria dragged her away by the hair. He felt hopeless as she screamed and cried, flailing frantically, clawing at his hands in her hair.

"Your daggers!" Fenris managed to scream to her in the chaos of it all. He had never heard horses scream so much as the ones were now. A sizzling ball of flame nearly collided with the guard beside him as it smashed into the wagon.

Astoria, even in the clamor, managed to understand what Fenris had screamed. He writhed against the men who dragged him backwards, kicking and flailing before having the sense to use his markings. Like a lantern, he ignited his markings, a cool blue flair in the dense fog.

As he plunged both of his fists into the men's chests that carried him away, he saw Astoria rip a dagger from her belt and slash at the hand in her hair. Fenris felt the men beside him collapse to the ground, and just as he was about to run to her, a flaming ball of fire whirled past his cheek and landed squarely in the man's chest.

Fenris looked over his shoulder and saw Varania in the process of making another fireball, her eyes wide and cheeks flushed, but her body still like a statue made of stone. He turned back and found the man on his rear in the mud, Astoria on her knees, scrabbling to her feet.

Fenris ran before the man could get up before her, and snapped his neck. Where had his sword gone? Fenris glanced around and saw it lying in the mud about ten feet away. He spun on his heels and scooped up Astoria by the shoulders before retrieving it.

Another fireball whizzed by, this time not so close as it singed the hair on a guard clad in maroon and sent him sprawling on impact. Hollan, who had been fighting with him at the time, stuck the end of his sword into the man's neck and wrenched it out, splattering blood on himself.

"Where's the magister?" Fenris heard Astoria ask beside him. He shook his head and tried to catch his breath. He never lost his head in battle – the fact that he had nearly gotten carried off when he could have used his markings unnerved him.

There were at least ten guards dead – but how man more remained was unseen. Fenris saw a couple rebellion soldiers, weaker men than he or Hollan, laying lifelessly in the mud. The double-decker cart was starting to burn, and the man driving the carriage was bent over in his seat sobbing as the horses screamed in fear at the smell of blood.

Fenris jumped up to where the driver sat and pulled him down by his collar. The man fell into the mud, screaming and begging for his life though Fenris didn't want such a thing.

"Where's the magister? Is he in the cart?" Fenris demanded, his voice ice and fire wrapped in one. All around him he could hear metal upon metal, steel ringing out in the road. Such deadly sounds, but sounds he was unfortunately quite familiar with.

"Y-y-yes!" the man cried. "P-p-lease don't hurt me!"

"What is the magister's name?"

"Flavius – Magister Flavius!"

Fenris shoved the man in the center of his chest with his foot and the man fell back into the puddle, sputtering. Flavius. He knew Flavius from Danarius' parties. He found Astoria's hand and pulled her under the reins, behind the horses but out of reach of their kicking hooves. They came around the side of the carriage and saw the magister, fumbling his way out of the cart.

The hem of his robes were on fire, but he stomped on them and they were extinguished. He coughed, choking on the smoke as the wagon was ablaze, and leaned heavily on his staff as he gained his bearings. He was bald, middle-aged with a round belly from living lavishly.

Fenris halted in his tracks. Would he be able to reach the magister before the man saw he was there and used his magic? It was unlikely. Fenris clumsily aided Astoria to stand behind him as he readied his blade and bent his knees.

The magister noticed a member of the rebellion about ten feet from him, swinging a rusted iron mace in front of him, trying to hit one of the Imperial guards. The magister coughed but then narrowed his eyes at the rebel.

Then suddenly there was electricity cackling, deadly and loud as lightning, channeled from the magister to the poor rebel. The rebel, a man whose name Fenris had forgotten, collapsed to the ground without so much as a scream.

"What is the meaning of this?!" The magister roared, storming to the guard. The magister's staff was something of another realm, it seemed. It was carved from a bone-white wood, or perhaps it was bone, Fenris could not tell. Rubies were set in crevices and holes that had been gauged out in the material. Small ridges ran along the crafted thing, designs that had been carved into it of whorls and waves.

Fenris dug his feet in the mud and ran at the magister, overwhelmed with hate and rage. Flavius. The name had only rung vague bells when he first heard it, but he remembered the man better when he saw the staff. Flavius was a snake, a powerful and arrogant man, much like Danarius.

Fool sentry! If he had any idea the power this man possessed, he would not have sent twenty rebels after him.

When Fenris was within about seven feet of the magister, the man looked over his shoulder and they locked eyes.

Not even the blink of an eye passed, and a wall of fire was erected between them. Fenris scrambled backwards so not to get burned, but the heat was blasting and sizzling.

Fenris swore out loud, panic and fear coursing through him as he turned his back on the magister and skittered away from the fire. Astoria reached for him, and Fenris realized she had just killed a man, whose body slumped to the ground beside her, blood pouring from his neck.

How many more guards could there be? He wondered, and would they win? It seemed doubtful, with the way things had gone.

Fenris collided with Astoria but threw an arm around her. He couldn't convey in words how quickly they needed to get away from the magister. He hadn't killed Fenris – that was saying something. The man had recognized him despite the cloak Fenris wore.

Flavius. The snake with a thousand ears – the man with little birds whispering secrets. Flavius knew what happened in Tevinter, things that other magisters tried to keep private. He was a dangerous man to those in power, though he counted himself among them.

A bolt of lightning seemed to narrowly miss him, snapping into one of the draft horses. The animal screamed and reared, though its fastenings and reins kept it restrained. Fenris heard another crack and then immediately after, an explosion. Fire rained down all around – like smoldering lanterns in the thick wet fog.

Fenris and Astoria tripped in the mud and went sprawling on the ground as they fled the magister. He cursed and rubbed the mud from his eyes, checking that Astoria was alright. Astoria was on her feet in an instant, helping him to his own as well.

"I'm going to climb on the cart and shoot him," she explained before kissing his cheek and sprinting off, climbing onto the driver's seat and then vaulting up and onto the roof of the cart. Fenris felt his heart pounding, but by the time he told her "no," she had scaled most of the thing. The wooden cart was burning – one of its sides cracking with fire though the wood had been moist from the rains and fog.

Still, would it hold out long enough for Astoria to kill Flavius?

Fenris looked around him and saw that three guards had surrendered – on their knees in the mud as one of the rebels held them at sword point. Eshan was laying in the mud, though Fenris couldn't tell if he was dead or alive. Varania was running closer, her green eyes scanning the road, the battlefield. They fell upon him and she sprinted towards him. The fear in her expression had him worried for a moment, and as he turned to look up at Astoria, he heard a deafening crack and the entire area was bathed in a brilliant pale purple light.

Lightning sailed over the cart, into the sky. He saw Astoria vault herself over the side of the cart, landing hard with a scream and collapsing to the ground. She hadn't been hit with the electricity, but the fall had hurt her. Her bow skittered across the dirt road, the arrows slipping out of her quiver. Fenris scrambled towards her to pull her away from the fire and he narrowly missed a small bolt of energy.

He paused and looked at the magister, who was coming around the cart. Flavius' eyes met Fenris', and the magister gave him the smallest smile, a crooked and menacing one. Fenris felt his heart stop for a brief moment, fearing what was to come.

The feeling that hit him next, he was no stranger to. His vision flashed white and Fenris stumbled, blinded. His limbs felt fatigued, his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to sleep. Awful visions plagued his mind, and shutting his eyes did not get rid of them. He saw shades, revenants, shrieks all coming for him. He saw those he knew – Hawke, Varric, Isabela, Anders, Merril, Varania and then, of course, Astoria being ripped apart as if rotted food for wolves.

Fenris fell to his knees and clutched his head, trying to fight against the feelings of sleep, horror and trying to rid himself of the stun. The magister didn't want him dead, he wanted him rendered useless.

How long he felt tortured like that, he hadn't known, but it ended. He felt the magic release him, and the cloud of energy that should be there was gone. He opened his eyes and saw it, like a light, beautiful white light ripple across the battlefield. Varania had dispelled it. Fenris felt like a heavy weight had lifted off him and he could breathe again.

He struggled back to his feet. He saw Flavius imprisoned in an immobilizing force, and saw this as his opportunity. The magister swayed on his feet, eyes shut. What he played, Varania played also.

Fenris ran to the magister, alighting his markings. Flavius groaned in pain before Fenris even got to him. An arrow poked from the right side of his chest, another from his right shoulder. So Astoria had hit him, but Varania had done more damage. It was certain that the magister was suffering from some spell.

Finally in reach, Fenris thrust his fist into the magister's chest, and the man's eyes snapped open in panic. Fenris grinned.

"If you even think of fighting me, I'll kill you," he growled, closing his fingers around the beating heart of Flavius. The man cried out. "What can you tell me of Valinius' lyrium warrior?"

Flavius gaped at him and put his hands up in surrender, knowing he was in a terrible predicament. Danarius would have cowered for his life like this, but Fenris hadn't given him a chance.

"Wh-what? Who?"

"Don't be stupid -" Fenris glanced at Astoria and saw her curled up on the ground, crying beside the burning cart. If she didn't move it might collapse onto her, flames and all. "The little boy – ten years old with markings like mine."

"I know nothing of him," The magister said, and Fenris could tell he wasn't lying. "I've only glimpsed him – months ago."

"How is he? Where is he?"

The magister's knees were shaking. "He was fine when I saw him. Dannis was training him. He should be with Valinius – I know nothing more. I swear to it!"

Fenris knit his brow. "Dannis?" The name sounded familiar, but nothing more.

"Y-yes."

"Who's that?"

Flavius frowned for a moment. "He's the man that trained you to use your markings. Best in Thedas. Please – spare me, I mean you no harm, nor your... companions."

Fenris clenched his fist and ripped Flavius' beating heart from behind the shelter of his ribs. He tossed the thing to the ground and let the body fall in a slump. He heard men shouting in praise, whooping in victory.

He looked around him. Varania stood a distance away, watching him carefully, as if she was in awe. Astoria was still in immediate danger, and as he ran towards her, he saw the surrendered guards die as well as the last remaining guards. It seemed as though they had only lost about five rebels.

Fenris knelt down beside Astoria. Mud was in her hair, on her skin. Hot tears ran down her face, embers fell all around her. Fenris hauled her to her feet and one of her legs buckled as she cried out. Fenris leaned her against him as he strapped his sword to her back before scooping her up into his arms.

"Varania," he barked, moving away from the burning cart. Varania was curled over Eshan, healing whatever had happened to him. Eshan had to be held down by other rebels as he writhed against the feeling. Bones, he had probably broken. They were painful to have healed.

Astoria blinked at him through her tears. Fenris noticed a cut on her arm, but it wasn't deep. "Astoria?" He asked, struggling to keep his voice level. He knew he shouldn't fear so much for her, but he had come too far for something terrible to happen. Not now. Not with the world burning.

Eshan had been twitching when Fenris reached him. Hollan and Garsen were helping other injured rebels, looting the guards, looting the magister's pockets. Fenris set Astoria down beside Eshan and gestured to her.

"Help her," he told Varania, feeling drained as if the chilly, damp and darkening day had sapped all of his energy from him. Varania glanced at Astoria, her eyes intense and focused, but she only gave a small nod. She worked on Eshan's wound; a deep and fatal gash in his abdomen. Fenris watched the skin knit back together as Eshan jerked violently and hissed through clenched teeth.

When he was healed, he lay there, gasping and shaking. Varania looked at Astoria and then to Fenris. "What hurts, Astoria?"

"She fell of the cart, I think something's broken," Fenris said, gesturing to her legs.

"Yeah," Astoria managed to say as she balled her hands into fists and held them at her temples. "My left ankle."

"I'm going to check on any life-threatening situations, I'll be right back for her." She scurried off before Fenris could argue, though he knew she had a point. Astoria was in no danger of dying. When she came back, her hands bloodied, Varania stood and moved around to kneel beside Fenris, looking over Astoria.

Varania moved quickly, not bothering to take Astoria's boot off. "Hold her leg down, Fenris," she said. Fenris nodded and crossed over her, straddling her leg to face her ankle, holding her thigh down with his hands. Varania took a breath and held her hands over Astoria's ankle, shutting her eyes. Fenris watched the magic encase her foot and seep into it. Astoria groaned and tried to pull away from it, but Fenris held her there.

And then it was over. Varania sat back on her heels and ran her trembling hands over her face. "You'll be fine. Are you injured, Fenris?"

He shook his head. Beside him, Eshan was taking his time getting to a seated position. All around the rebels were taking inventory. Fenris retrieved Astoria's bow and arrows and brought them over to her where she sat massaging her ankle. Varania was walking over to Flavius, as if she couldn't believe that he was dead. When Fenris gave Astoria her belongings, he went to Varania and looked down at the dead magister.

"You killed Flavius," she said. "Good."

"A magister bleeds like any other."

She nodded solemnly.

"This staff must be stronger than yours."

Again, she nodded solemnly. "I'd loathe to use it, though."

Fenris shrugged. "I use the Blade of Mercy, which an Archon used to slay Andraste. I care no longer if it's a replica or the actual thing – it still cuts deep and kills those that try to do me harm. Why not use their own power against them? Take it, you'll need it."

Varania gaped at him, eyeing the blade on his back. She then looked back on the dead fool at her feet and picked up the bone white staff, eyeing it curiously.

"I suppose I could try."

Fenris turned on his heel and let himself feel relief, when all he felt before was fear and rage. All around him was blood, gore. Bodies dressed in maroon now stained with death, a death he felt they deserved. He stood near Astoria and dumped a bit of water on the blue strip of scarf around his wrist, washing the blood from it. Within him he felt that it wouldn't be the last time he did such a thing.