Fenris chased the wisp for what seemed like hours. He felt like he had been running in circles.

Soon his legs gave out. He bent down and caught his knees.

"Kaffas," he growled.

But as soon as he stopped, the wisp stopped too. It simply waited, flying around in circles as if riding an invisible merry-go-round.

He saw this, swallowed his heart back into his chest, and followed it at a slow pace.

The wisp danced on until it reached another loop in the river and hovered over it. He went to it, and before he could ask it anything, he saw in the water the awry figure of a dark-haired man. And then had come a moment of pure feeling, which had made its indelible and irrational impression. He thought he saw a face, only for a second, his own face nimble and lit in what seemed like whole-hearted smile.

He came down and perused the figure, but the features were bent and distorted now.

He waved his hand, and the hand in the water followed suit. His eyebrows rose. He wasn't crazy?

He thought he should tell Hawke that mirrors will unfortunately remain on his list of enemies. But, as he looked up, he forgot she wasn't there.

The reflection, however, did not move its head.

As he looked back down, he tried harder to see the face. He gave up. He then thought to raise his arm slightly, and turned on his markings.

The reflection's arm was clear, however. No lyrium tattoos whatsoever.

So he wasn't crazy. It was him, or perhaps, what could have been him?

He fell in awe, and sat down. The world of solid things and spiritual things flickered and went out. He was riveted heart and soul to the figure in the water, who neither moved nor dissolved. He felt like his own spirit was entering on a quest which would carry him forward beyond his most appalling dreams.

He was staring into a mirror within a mirror, and one of his deepest sealed questions had been answered. The man in the water had been alive within him all along.

He almost smiled. But before he could, the reflection's arm made an abrupt motion, and quite suddenly, it grabbed his hand. He struggled hard to get away, and through the splash of water he saw the full mass of dark mahogany hair coagulating out of the river.

He screamed like never before.

The clone of his other arm came out to the surface, and with its elbow onto the shore the figure was trying to emerge.

He felt electrocuted by panic. His heart went into his throat. He felt like he was burning in a fire, and his limbs jerked in different directions without control.

Darkness. Burning. Water. Drowning.

Then… silence?

As he opened his eyes again, he saw a light piercing the water and wrapping around his head. He heard a muffled song coming from the surface, a feminine tune that he could scarce believe came from himself, or whatever that creature was. Then quite suddenly, he felt himself being pulled up. He grabbed onto her arm, his head in her lap. He held onto her as if it was the single thing he needed most, and within seconds, he was devoid of fear. He felt like he knew this woman in and out, whoever she was, belonged to her in the most intimate way, could trust her in the most intimate way.

"Timer na, ma adore." (Do not be afraid, my love)

He looked up at her and his eyebrows came together. "Scio te," he said. (I know you)

"Tui e mea, e tua, ma adore," she said, her deep voice quite immediate and close as she caressed his wet hair. (You are mine, and I yours, my love)

There was ease, and comfort and safety in her arms. The soil was no longer wet and cold, and he could see the warm light peeking through the strands of her hair.

"Sole na mi alii credera, sed mi timera," he said. (I am not used to people believing in me, but I am used to making people afraid)

"Quare, neno?" (How so, child?)

He didn't know what to say. He felt safe, but frightened quite enough. What could she do? Would he ever know?

"Why are you afraid for yourself, love?" she said in Tevene. "Aren't you strong enough? You don't think it's so bad, do you? You're not from here, you're from far away."

Afraid. Was he really feeling it so strongly? She'd spoken with authority, and he was listening with all his soul.

"How I got 'far away' is not good either, and no thousands of miles will change that or make me forget," he said in a deep voice, revealing his pain.

"Read my heart, child," she interrupted him kindly. "I think nothing of the sort about you, though maybe there were times when I thought that it might have been bad luck in two particular cases."

"You are not angry?" he said.

She'd raised her eyebrows slightly, thoughtfully. "No, I am not angry. I am sad," she said. "I am sad because you say you have no one, and I am glad because I know you have her."

His heart throbbed in his ears.

"Omne a rei via ti rei na," she said. (In all there is, guilt forces your pride)

He was transfixed, and there came a plea from his mouth. Forgive me.

He could barely feel her anymore. The shocking wave was coming back as if it had just finished its lunch break, and reached back into his muscles. No. Please. Come back. Stay. Please. Don't go.

"Tu rei na," he heard her say, as she faded away. "Dore na." (It's not your fault. No shame.)

The electrical shocks reached into his brain, and there came the darkness.

Well, this was just the greatest time to lose somebody in the Fade for the first time. It barely made a difference that Hawke could make a mile in a second if she didn't have a direction. She could only follow the river, and as she did, she thought she saw a weird tree that was no longer there after she blinked. She moved on, and there it was, a strong feeling of deja-vu.

She stopped, swallowing her curses, and tried to focus on the general area. Come on. Come on. Someone, something was here. But nothing came out of it.

"Fuck sake!"

"Fasta vass!"

She looked up. There was a little bird up on a branch attached to nothing at all. The parrot looked like it had just rolled over mixed paints.

"Did you… turn yourself into a bird?" she said. "A little cliché in my opinion, but hey, no accounting for taste."

The bird did not answer.

"Hey, don't ignore me. You're in my home, so to speak, and I find your attitude very disrespectful. Hello?"

"Hehwo," it said, and started poking the branch like a woodpecker.

"Okay… well if you're not Fenris, who are you? You don't feel like a spirit. Hey! I'm talking to you! Where are you going? Get back here you circus reject!"

The bird flew away like a spitfire into the fog. Hawke doubled down on that.

"Let him go," Hawke said, as the bird slowed down and rested upon the woman's shoulder. A violet glyph came down to enshrine her as she held Fenris's unconscious body. "Back away now or you will spend eternity with sixteen demons, and believe me, they never shut up."

The woman, a tall and well-rounded elven woman with dark hair pulled up in a long tail, lazily peered up at her with two emerald eyes. "I'm sure I'd hate that," she said and looked back down at Fenris. "After all, I only just pulled him away from one."

"I see," Hawke said, and immediately changed face. "What's he to you, Compassion?"

"Is that what I am?" the woman said, more of as a comment rather than a question. She spoke with an accent Hawke had never heard before. "I suppose that will do."

"What demon was it?" she asked, but the woman started to fade. "Hey, hey, hey—"

"He is remembering," she said obscurely. "It cannot be reversed. He will forget now, but he will remember this too."

"What—because of me?"

"No." She was almost gone.

"Because of you?"

"No."

"Good. Great. Glad we exhausted most possibilities. Tell me something useful, will you?"

The spirit stayed silent for a moment.

"What you think you are doing is unnecessary. He will start forgiving himself. Let him."

He heard his name, as if the voice was coming from inside a barrel.

"Fenris?"

He opened his eyes. His muscles jolted slightly.

"Hey there," she said in a sweet tone, quite full of relief.

He looked up, and he saw the dark red strands of hair almost tickling his nose, and the smile he knew so well. His head was in her lap, and she was stroking his hair like a mother would her child.

"Mi rei na," he said dreamily. (It wasn't my fault)

"What?"

"What?" he said in haze. He furrowed his brows.

"I swear one day I'll know what crap you keep muttering in foreign tongues," she said to herself.

He still looked confused, and half-picked himself up.

"Hawke?" he asked, as if he was expecting someone else.

"To most authors."

His muscles kept jerking slightly.

"What happened?" he asked. "Why are we here?"

Her shoulders sank. "You don't remember."

He furrowed his brows, as it seemed she was making a statement rather than asking a question. He crossed his legs on the ground and brushed through his white hair.

Right then and there, her blood froze as she saw his face like a glitchy blur.

"I remember… walking," he said. "Down the river. A-and…" His hand went to his forehead. "A… tree?" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't remember."

She looked around. There was nothing but river and rock.

Her hand came to her forehead. "Maker, why am I an idiot?"

"Now, now," Fenris said in a deep and patronising voice. "Don't open that can of warms, sweetheart, we'd be at it all day."

She became angry alright. If she wasn't so angry, she would have been slightly charmed.

"Something-something, didn't listen to me," she said condescendingly.

"Make. Sense," he commanded coldly.

"Okay. I just found you here." She pointed. "On the ground."

"And I just happen to not remember anything," he said with suspicion.

"As far as I can see," she half-lied, "you had a rendezvous with a spirit. It probably made you forget."

He flung his arms out in anger. "Do I have a tag on my forehead that says 'Free memories. Grab them while they're hot!'?"

She didn't know what to say.

"What spirit?" he demanded.

"It's gone now. I can't make up what it was."

"You mean if it was a demon or not."

"I mean what affinity it had."

"Tsk. Who cares what affinity it had!" he said, as if the acid in his tone shaped itself into mocking quotation marks. "I see spending so much time with demons blinded you to the very difference."

She looked as if she stopped herself from saying something and breathed in.

"If it was a demon," she said, which was true at least for his persecutor, "it still matters what affinity it had. It points to the motivations behind whatever they did. Don't you remember anything else?"

"No," he said in a low, hostile tone.

"Fine," she said and got her and himself up.

Then she took hold of his face.

"What… are you doing?"

"Seeing if you're still connected to your body. I don't fancy waking up in bed with an abomination."

"You—" he said angrily. A frustrated growl followed. "Why would I—"

"It's not like it's the first time."

Immediately he removed his face from her hands.

She saw his expression. "I… didn't mean it like that," she said.

"You did," Fenris said. He went cold all over. "And you were right."

He turned around to walk.

He will start forgiving himself. Let him.

She leaned her head back. "What-a-cunt," she cursed herself.

"I want to ask you something, Demon," said Fenris as soon as he got back.

Hawke looked at him from behind as if he just said he was going to read a poem to orphans.

"By all meanz," Crowley said with enthusiasm. "It has been a long time since I have made any conversation with a living soul."

"Eh-hem," she said.

He gave her an innocent look. "No offense."

"You claim you cannot lie," Fenris said.

"Indeed, I cannot," said Crowley. "I am unwillingly virtuous at heart."

"That's a … fancy way to put it."

"Ask away," said the demon.

"You are a Demon of Pride."

"No."

"No?"

"I am a Spirit."

"Of what?"

"Of… nothing in particular."

"That makes no sense."

Crowley scratched one of his horns. "I told you I am not good at explaining thingz."

"Try," Fenris pressed with an imperious expression.

"I am…err… no longer what I once waz," said Crowley.

"If it looks like a demon, talks like a demon and acts like a demon—" Fenris said condescendingly.

Crowley was about to be offended, but Hawke intervened with a look of someone who forgot to mention something important.

"Actually…" she said, her hand going over her shoulder. "It's an illusion. Well, the looks, not the accent. Don't know where that came from."

Fenris shook his head again. "What."

Her shoulders sank as she scratched the back of her head. "Alright… How do I put this… Demons don't look the way demons look—Fenris raised an eyebrow—okay, okay, basically… demons can shapeshift, right? Well, that is not necessarily intentional. A demon may essentially look like a donkey at heart, yet when we encounter a demon 'nakedly', people largely see a common type of appearance: pride demons are big and craggy and have horns, desire demons are horned women with huge breasts, rage demons are walking clumps of lava, etc. This is due to our own made up perception of them which to some authors has begun by a simple spreading by word of mouth, and, as they speculate, has been ingrained in people's collective subconscious, so that we could recognize types of demons without a shadow of a doubt, without conflicting accounts of how they look like from this witness or that witness. Arguably, it is an… evolutionary thing."

"So Crowley actually looks like a donkey?" Fenris said.

"Your mother is a donkey," Crowley retorted in annoyance.

"I do not remember my mother," he said.

"I'd say that's quite a relief considering she looked like a donkey."

"Right, right, right—" Hawke interrupted before Fenris punched Crowley. "The point is that, here, on my turf, their 'physique' reflects their own self-perception. They can shapeshift for your entertainment, but they cannot 'lie'. Likewise, an observer cannot make them 'lie' by looking like what people made themselves see demons as to survive them."

"Then why do I see exactly that?"

"Because they are entertaining you."

Fenris said nothing, and flung his arms out again and shook his head. "What."

"The point was to show you the truth…er… through kind of a lie…" She rolled her eyes. "The point was that you saw them clearly for what they were upon coming here. I mean, imagine we got here and you saw a bunch of people or beings of light or whatever. You'd think I'm some serial psychic kidnapper. It's just easier this way. I didn't want you to soften up on account of their humanity."

So she wanted him to judge her? No, that's not right. She'd said she wanted him to know everything, and this was the best way she knew how. Well… where can you get a drink around here?

"You're right. I do not wish to be confused anymore," he said and she was about to smile. "Hence I will ignore you now."

Her smile was aborted. "Very well."

"So you're no longer a demon?" Fenris demanded. "How does that work?"

Crowley made a slow head gesture. "I do not know. I just know that I am not anymore."

"You must have some ideas."

"Perceptive," said Crowley, tilting his head. "Indeed, I have had plenty of time alone with my thoughts to entertain a few ideas. Although most of dee time it is Mistress's thoughts that crowd me."

"Oh, just most of the time?" Fenris said sarcastically.

"She can choose to make me deaf to them. But most of the time we are allowed to bear witness."

"That… opens more questions. Let us not get astray. Finish the answer to my first question."

"Oh, but that was part of dee answer," Crowley said. "I have been here a long time, unable to fulfil my original nature, yet I witness herz." His hand went to his head as if it became too heavy for his own neck. "By Zazikel, how can you people have so many thoughts and emotions in dee span of but a few secondz? It is an abomination!"

Fenris scoffed. "And then you're surprised when you merge with us and you turn into one."

Hawke bit her lip. Not too long ago, Crowley burst into rage and went through an existential crisis. Not too long after, he played the wise council to her. And now you had him cheerful and clownish again. Crowley didn't realise how human he was in spite of his objections.

"I have never done such," Crowley said as if he was wounded by the comment.

"Why not?"

Crowley stared up into the nothingness. "Never met dee right person for it. Wazn't in dee cards for me."

Fenris furrowed his brows, and directed his open palm towards Hawke.

"No, well—" Crowley said. "Dat is a whole other story."

"Mhm," she said with a smirk.

"Well—" He scratched his horn. "Anyway, as I was saying… By receiving this cur… err, opportunity… to bear witness to Mistress's life and the whole vast array of thoughts and sentiments she experiences every second, every hour, every day, ever changing—arghh—to no fucking end…" His hand went to his forehead again. "Argh, by Zazikel, just too many thoughts… and thus—" He titled his head, staring into the nothingness. "I come to understand dee living, through no will of mine. I come to understand that my nature blinds me as each Spirit's nature blinds them. And I find…" He paused. "I cannot go back. I have seen dee world unblind, and I am no longer willing to pursue it."

"That is very strange, Demon," Fenris said. Crowley gave him a look. "Ehm… Spirit. Whatever." He scratched his head. "I don't really understand. Surely you are used to it by now. You are potentially equipped now more than ever to be human or… whatever. It would make you the perfect candidate for a fully functioning abomination."

Crowley scoffed. "Even if I wanted such a teeng, I am trapped here, remember?"

"Didn't you want to be a figurine-carving… farmer's boy… or something?" Hawke butted in.

"I could have been. I did not say I wanted to be."

Fenris ignored them. "So you're in a prison, becoming more… human. But unable to be one, and now unwilling to be one."

"So what does dat make me, hmm?" said Crowley eagerly.

Fenris opened his mouth, but he found he didn't want to say it.

Crowley nodded in understanding. "Quite dee tale, no? I am almost pleased dat but one little soul in dis vast world and dee next, may know dis tale, and dat it does not die with Mistress."

"Don't be too happy. I'll be dead before she is," Fenris mumbled.

"But why?" said Crowley with interest.

Fenris gave a little shrug. "I'm older." And wanted.

The demon was quite surprised at that, and laughed. "Dis is why I like elves. Am I seventeen? Am I forty? Who knows!"

"I'm too tired to be seventeen," Fenris said in a monotone voice.

"Sounds like something a forty year old would say," Hawke mumbled.

His face remained monotonous. "Sounds like something a lady who is into older men would say."

"Sounds like I've lost the argument."

"Hmmm, do you wish to know?" Crowley intervened eagerly, as if handing out an invitation.

"I…" He gulped.

"It is not what you teenk," said Crowley.

Fenris pressed his lips tightly. "Maybe later."

"Ah, mystery… It's like you revel in eet."

"Next question," Fenris commanded, ignoring him. "What were you like, before?"

Crowley looked up at him. "I was a Daemon of Pride, long ago. I sought out the searing shimmer of Man's need for self-worth, I sought it out as He continuously sought it out throughout life. I revelled in the arrogance of living souls, I drew power from their vanity, I fed off their self-importance from dee very pedestals they built for themselves. And, naturally, I loved possessing mirrors in my spare time."

"But what if they didn't like what they saw in the mirror?" Fenris asked.

"It does not matter," said Crowley. "Why does one not like what they see in dee mirror? What does one not like oneself at all? Dee feeling of unworthiness only exists because you have a point of reference, a model, a self-constructed idea of 'how it should be'. And upon comparing yourself to dat point of reference, constantly and unendingly, you are setting yourself on the quest for change. It is something a living soul cannot control, even if they do not want to change at all. Dee living soul has a Mind, and a better part of dee Mind works quite independently of what dee person wishes or is aware of. Even when a living soul wishes death, it does it to end dee pain for itself, because it loves itself. Humm… a rather exasperating paradox, don't you tink?"

"So you feed off of unworthiness as it seeks to… become something else?"

"It always seeks out to become something else," said Crowley. He gave a roaring laugh. "I bet yoo dat even if all manner of spirits are removed from this world, nature will still do what nature does. It is a law independent of its agents. But— der is an exception. When a living soul reaches dee precipice of its idea of self and its idea of the world, where the living soul pushes all its past convictions and any little remnant of 'how it should be' down into the precipice forever, when there is nothing to measure itself to, when… Purpose and Pride are replaced by Nihilism."

Fenris frowned as his head moved slightly backwards.

"Based on your assertions, one can only draw the twisted conclusion that in order to protect ourselves from Pride Demons we must turn to nihilism."

Crowley broke into a little laughter.

"Sure, why not!" he said. "Shield yourself from Me by abandoning pride, and become twice as vulnerable to Sloth and Despair. What an awesome deal, no?"

Fenris's eyes danced the sad waltz of a realisation.

"Fair enough..." He looked down, as if he were reluctantly digging inside a freshly sealed tunnel. "Your… 'friend' had me do terrible things," he said as he looked up at the demon.

"Yes…" Crowley said, as he went down on one knee, the better to face him. As if peering into his soul, he said: "That was… not a pretty sight."

Fenris swallowed hard. "It made me turn against people I owe my life to. A-against people I…" he said and paused as he found himself pointing to Hawke. "A-against my friends."

The demon gazed at him considerately. "Yes… It is a terrible thing when history repeats itself."

Hawke frowned in the background. If only she weren't somewhere far behind, she might have seen Fenris trying very hard to hide his pain.

"It achieved this by playing on my deepest fears. How can Pride have power over Fear? Shouldn't it play on pride, as is its nature?"

"Hmm, but wasn't it pride that lay at the heart of those fears? Wasn't it, indeed, dee value of your own life dat was dee prize? Isn't … freedom to be what you wish to be … Dee Whole Purpose? And even more, wasn't it your own accomplishment that you escaped, your own accomplishment dat you emerged victorious from every hunter's attempt to catch you, your own achievement dat you made something out of yourself in Kirkwall, your own triumph and yours alone that you… dared to live?"

Fenris heeded those enumerations as if he were listening to an obituary.

"And even so, perhaps it is more helpful dat I should remind you—Pride is dee very core of identity, of 'being', dee very starting point, as well as dee finish line for many. Pride comes out from dee second a person is aware it is a person, and it is rooted in its instinct for self-prezervation. Now… what is the most primal, most solid, most visceral symptom of self-prezervation?

Fenris's eyes darkened. "Fear."

Crowley regarded his answer with one slow nod of approval.

"Heheherghh, yes! And Fear is good for fleeing, as well as fighting. If you choose fight, Fear gives birth to Anger."

Fenris broke into a dark laugh.

"Someteeng funny?" Crowley asked with intrigue.

Fenris shook his head, his eyes falling halfway, his smile just a little bitter. "Irony." He brushed his hand through his hair. "Fear and Anger characterise me so well, I may as well be a walking caricature."

"Well— you said it, not I," said Crowley.

"Love shields you from Pride much more than nihilism ever possibly could," said Bucky, Lieutenant of Terror and Water™, from the cage next to Crowley. "But no such blessing comes without a terrible cost." Its voice seem to come in tiny echoes. "Fear out of Love, in my estimation, is more painful and more powerful than any other." He noticed the demon gazed on Hawke in a thoughtful manner as it spoke.

You can say that again, a voice said in Tevene.

"Right," she said quickly, and a little defensively. "Any more pressing questions or shall we make our leave?"

Fenris didn't say anything. Nobody noticed this? Perplexed, he looked from left to right, trying to understand whose voice it was before.

"Yes, let us leave. I sought for something and I found it, however bad the conclusion is."

"You are so Negative," Crowley went on with an eager smile. "Truly, it is baffling how fast you go down dee Negative scale, in fact, it is as if you eagerly and impatiently jump on dee scale to make it weigh down to dee ground!"

"Are you done exaggerating?" Fenris said sourly.

Crowley laughed his demonic laugh again. "Projection, thy name is Fenris. What was so bad about what you found out? I said dat Fear breeds Anger if you choose to fight. You've ran for years with nothing but Fear as your mistress and Anger locked inside a box of nightmares. Now you are angry. You boil. You fight! How is dat not a good teeng, hmm?"

"Did someone say nightmares?" said Bucky as if he had just been woken up by a church bell.

"E—" Crowley wanted to say something, but Bucky went into a bizarre trance.

"Not again," Hawke cried.

Its lizard eyes illuminated slightly, and the voice became a multitude of eerie voices. "Darkness. Old, vivid pain. Woken into pain. Born into it. A searing blade. Thousands ripping through my flesh. Chaos. Agony. Seven men needed to hold me down. My skin is tearing. Burned. Black. Charred flesh. Make it stop."

The cage began to jolt and electrocuted Bucky's wet skin.

"There, I stopped it," Hawke said in a monotone voice. But it was quite obvious she was really fuming.

"Ehrm," said Crowley apologetically. "Do forgive Bucky. He has not been Here as long as I."

"I can see that," Fenris said acidly, giving him a look. He took a deep breath.

Hawke gave out a nervous cough, and her hand went behind her neck.

"Shall we go now?"

"Please."

But before they left, Fenris stopped in his tracks. "Wait."

"You're turning thirty on the 27th of this month," Crowley said. "Happy birthday."

One couldn't guess if Fenris was petrified from the news or from generally being Fenris. [Somewhere in the background, Hawke made a victory gesture.]

"Thank you," he said. His voice was hollow, but there was relief in it.

As he turned his back to him, he saw her biting her lip and keeping in her snorts.

"I expect a present on the 27th," Fenris said.

"A cane, perhaps?" she said.

"You watch your tone with me from now on, young lady," he spoke curtly, although the corner of his mouth betrayed his grin.

Yes, yes, I found a worthwhile way of playing with the similarity between Fenris Theme and Mage Pride ;D/