Summary: Time passes in Cumberland. Fenris discovers something sinister. CW: Violence, disturbing imagery.

In the months that followed his acceptance into the Aurum Company, Fenris began to prove his usefulness to Aedan Cadash. The first dozen jobs he worked seemed straightforward in comparison to his previous experiences, which consisted of dealing with maleficars running rampant, murderous dwarven cults, and ancient darkspawn. Not to mention his ample days spent hunting slavers with Hawke. The simplicity was welcome: he'd put on his plate armour, threateningly accompany some cargo on a ship or in a caravan, and watch idly as it was loaded into a warehouse. In contrast to his Kirkwall days, nothing ever really happened: at most, a land wagon would be beset upon by poorly-armoured and rather desperate bandits, which Fenris and his compatriots would deal with handily. The ships proved even safer, and piracy was rare. Either the Company didn't take jobs from danger-prone clients, or Isabela and her ilk were focusing their raiding efforts elsewhere.

By the time that Fenris had gotten enough of a feel for his sea legs to last him a lifetime, Cadash moved him to protecting actual people, which involved a lot of skulking in various Nevarran nobles' kitchens while they entertained esteemed guests. This, too, was easy enough. In fact, Fenris proved better at it than most of the other warriors at the Company, as many of them were loudmouth career mercenaries with no concept of high society. Though he was loath to admit that it was thanks to his years as a slave, he was familiar with the tiptoeing required to keep humans of high birth happy. Put simply, he knew how to keep out of sight, and he could keep his mouth shut. Fenris would take jobs from anyone, doing anything, too, deliberately building up a reputation in the Company as someone to whom a job was just a job as long as coin was paid, no matter how morally repulsive the requirements.

Perhaps that was why, today, Fenris was finally going to become privy to the secret that Cadash and the rest of the leadership had been keeping for several weeks. It started with a rumour of a big job that the Aurum Company had been hired for, shared with him by the dagger specialist Cajal, a lithe Antivan man who was sleeping with the personnel manager Marcel. "We've been hired by some other company," Cajal had whispered conspiratorially as they walked back to the Old Yard together after an evening spent protecting some countess' hors d'oeuvres. "Some job that's too big for them to handle. Do you think Aedan'll pick you?"

It seemed so, based on the note that had been left in the storage chest he kept at the Company compound. It bade him to meet with Cadash in a small tavern in the Merchant's Quarter. He also hoped anxiously that the secrecy of this job meant that it had something to do with the slave trade in the city.

Whoever the slavers were in the city of Cumberland, they were professionals, as no one, human, dwarf, and elf alike, had ever actually seen them operating. Unlike his previous investigations, he had been able to identify no local associates, no names of ships commonly used, not even the method by which slaves were brought into the city. In fact, the major evidence he had that there even were slaves being trafficked in the city was based on the impossibility that a major city in a nation that bordered Tevinter could avoid it. The hahren of the alienage had also admitted (out of annoyance, after he had bothered her several times) that elves did disappear sometimes, but she chalked it up to them joining the Dalish. However, there were no clans for many miles and none of these errant elves ever seemed to return or try to contact their homes.

Fenris was becoming frustrated. Keeping an ear to the ground at the boarding-house had served him no better than snooping around the port. Maresi kept herself occupied with the gossip of the traders at the square, or with the personal affairs of the renters. She seemed not to keep track of the elven community, which Fenris knew could be vulnerable to abduction by slavers. He was, however, continually amazed at the kindness and perceptiveness of the young elven woman. He had spent a day a few weeks ago recovering from a caravan attack by slightly better armoured bandits, and in the evening, he observed Maresi sitting by the fire and reading from a tattered old book to the daughter of one of the lodgers who'd been crying earlier. Despite having seen her working throughout the day, scrubbing the floors, hanging laundry out to dry, peeling several dozen potatoes and carrots for supper, and going through the ledgers, she nonetheless had a few moments to spare to comfort a lonely child. This perceptiveness for people's needs, and weaknesses, extended to her dry wit. Her well-placed barbs were often amusingly directed at the lovelorn Yevin, who visited often, being somewhat of an inside joke amongst the long-term lodgers at Miva's Room and Board. Sometimes, Maresi would remind Fenris of Felissa, but he brushed the confusing feeling away almost as soon as it surfaced.

Of Hawke, he still dreamed regularly, but with less of the urgency and vividness of the first few weeks after learning of her death. Mostly, his dreams now featured her standing guard far away, observing him with sad eyes; whatever dark threat had been chasing him felt distant. No matter how quickly he ran in her direction, she remained on the horizon. Sometimes, she would give a little wave and a wistful smile, and he would wake up. The wound of her passing, though still deep, was not as raw and blistering as before. With time, the anger and agony had subsided (not without the help of copious amounts of bad Nevarran wine). Still, on days like today, when he felt he was on the cusp of progress in his quest, their quest, he longed wholeheartedly for his closest advisor and confidant.

He was grateful that Isabela had not tried to contact him. No news arrived from Varric, either, though Fenris' lack of response to his last momentous letter certainly didn't invite further correspondence. Rumour of the triumph of the Inquisition in reconciling the Empress and her marquise at Haramshiral had reached Cumberland, effectively ending the Orlesian civil war. Fenris could hardly feel the same: to him, the fabled Dalish elf with the mark of Andraste, destined to save the world, would always seem in some way responsible for Hawke's death. In truth, in Cumberland, the world didn't seem to need saving – though there was talk of Tevinter influence in the court and errant Mortalatasi residing in the College of Magi, Nevarrans rarely took that as cause for alarm. For once, Fenris was not privy to how the latest world crisis was being solved. He preferred it that way.

While the Inquisitor was out there dealing with some undefined threat, Fenris was as close as he'd ever been to a breakthrough in Cumberland. Currently, he was walking to the tavern in which he was supposed to meet Cadash – an unassuming place, north of the main market square of the Merchant's Quarter. He wore his leathers, a wool hooded cloak, and Felissa's dagger on his hip. The tavern was empty when he walked in, save for the barkeep and an armed man by the door. Cadash's, no doubt, but Fenris didn't recognize him. He took one look at Fenris and gestured to lead him past the empty tables and the barkeep into a side room.

Aedan Cadash was mid-conversation with Marcel and a few others with leadership roles within the Company when Fenris walked in. The man who had led him there gave a sharp nod and took his leave, back to his post by the door. The modestly-dressed leader of the Aurum Company finished his conversation and smiled.

"Good of you to have joined us, Fenris, and punctual as always. The others will be along shortly, I expect."

Though he had worked for the man for months, Fenris still hadn't gotten used to his subdued tone and extreme politeness. Despite his reserved mannerisms, however, the dwarf commanded immense respect; when he spoke, his subordinates hung onto his every carefully-chosen word. Fenris had tried to probe, but it still wasn't clear how he had become the leader of the Company. Regardless, he had an unusual charisma that made one trust his ability to make decisions. This was a desirable quality in a leader, one that Hawke had also possessed.

Eventually, others arrived, and Fenris began noticing a pattern in who had been assigned to join this particular mission. Cadash had mustered all of the mages, for one, as well as a handful of former templars. Clearly, this job would require dealing with magic, which was probably why Fenris had been invited. As the room filled to a dozen people, Cadash started the meeting.

"We have been hired by the Blind Men, with whom some of you may be familiar," he began. Fenris' eyes widened but he quickly returned his expression to an impassive frown, even as his heart was pounding. He had indeed heard of these Blind Men. This was the lead he had been looking for. Though he knew little about them, the Blind Men were slavers, dealing in people across Thedas, selling them to the Crows and magisters alike. So, they were active in Cumberland as well.

"The work is simple enough," Cadash continued, "and involves escorting a shipment from its entry into the port to its destination, the location of which you will be informed of the day of. You have been selected," and at this point the dwarf paused, peering at the mercenaries in the room, "because your skills render you better equipped than most to deal with this unique cargo. Therefore, I ask that you do not discuss the details of this job with anyone outside of this room. Please rest assured that you will be well-compensated for those skills, as well as your silence." He gave a sharp nod, instructed them to direct any questions to Marcel, and exited the room.

Fenris furrowed his brow as Marcel went on to brief them on the details. The 'cargo', which was obviously a shipment of slaves, would be arriving in the port of Cumberland in a week, in the middle of the night. They would take the typical route through the sewers that all Company-assisted contraband took, with a special emphasis on spacing out each group of slaves, guarded by a handful of mercenaries. Fenris had been paired with a human mage named Riann, who he had seen in the mess hall of the compound occasionally. He couldn't show it, but the gears were whirring in his head very quickly now. He only had a week to decide whether to use this opportunity to gather information or to thwart the delivery of the shipment entirely. This decision depended on the abilities of the people he would have to subdue in order to accomplish it, and thus, as soon as Marcel finished speaking, he approached Riann. She was squinting at a wrinkled piece of paper in her hand when he strode up, trying his best to project an air of friendliness.

"My name is Fenris. I believe we will be working together on this mission," he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. She did so, stuffing the parchment into her trouser pockets, clearly perplexed by his greeting but not necessarily suspicious.

"Well-met," she mumbled. "Riann. You from Tevinter?"

People recognized his name as such much more often in Cumberland than in Kirkwall, he had found. He nodded. "Minrathous, originally," he answered brightly, with as much cheerfulness as he could muster. Hawke would have laughed. "I'm guessing you're Fereldan."

She nodded, relaxing. "On my mum's side. I was at the Perendale Circle before the war. Found work here after the blighted College mages made their decision. Didn't want to get involved with that lot."

So, Riann was just an ordinary Circle mage with little passion for rebellion. Well-trained, but unlikely to get in Fenris' way.

"I was in Kirkwall when it all started," he said with a grimace. "I don't blame you. We… I couldn't get out of there fast enough."

His true views on the matter weren't too far off his feigned agreement with Riann; though, in retrospect, he could sympathize with the desire to escape the detestable treatment the mages had endured in Kirkwall under Meredith's heel, an apostate and maleficar had blown up a fucking Chantry, killing hundreds of innocents. Of course the templars had gone on high alert, trying to protect people. The mages hadn't exactly done themselves any favours by taking the opportunity to secede from the Chantry, the very organization that kept them from ravaging the countryside as waylaying abominations. If anything, the war had done nothing to assuage his fears about magic-users, or to sway his belief that more freedom for mages was at its very essence dangerous.

Riann nodded pensively and the conversation grinded to a halt. Fenris took his leave, telling the mage he'd see her next week, and sped off into the night.

Walking briskly back to the Old Yard, Fenris tried to remember what he knew about the Blind Men. Though he didn't like to recall his life before, the name had been one of many companies that were known to deal in flesh. He could remember nothing special about them from his time serving Danarius, but then again, slavers were as common as tailors in Tevinter. He and Hawke hadn't come across them in their travels through Ostwick or Wycome, either: the operations they had dismantled in the Free Marches had been smaller in scale, mostly run by groups of Crows or opportunists who sold to them.

He would rifle through his and Felissa's notes when he got back to his room, he decided, and look for mentions of the Blind Men. A certain restlessness filled him, along with a warm feeling in his gut. It felt… good, he realized, to have progress once again. So good, in fact, that he couldn't help but grin when he entered Miva's. Maresi was alone in the main hall, poring over the ledger on the counter with a quill in hand. She glanced up when he came in.

"Evening," she called out automatically, but put down the quill when she noticed his pleased expression. "What happened to that famous frown, huh? Someone steal it from you?"

Fenris laughed heartily and sat on a stool by the counter. "Something like that."

Maresi rubbed her eyes and tucked a piece of her red hair behind her ear, smirking. "Good things at work then? Or did you finally visit that, uh, place Pammon told you about? A man comes in here grinning like that, I usually think he's gone to see his mistress, but you're not married, are you?"

Felissa's face flashed before him, and his smile lessened somewhat. "No, not exactly. It's the Company, I've gotten a rather interesting job."

"Oh, interesting how?" Maresi asked, closing the book forcefully. "Please, tell me. I can't take another moment doing these sums."

Emboldened by his good spirits, Fenris obliged her. He had no reason not to trust Maresi, whose inherent goodness he had been observing for months. Besides, who was she going to tell? "We've been hired by the Blind Men to transport cargo inside the city."

She stared. "The Blind Men. So… slavers. Often of other elves. And this is a good thing because…"

He realized how it must sound. "I hunt them," he blurted, and eagerly clarified, "Slavers, I mean. I've been in Cumberland for months and learned nothing, now this job has fallen into my lap, and I could finally have the information I've been looking for."

Maresi nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. "Well, I didn't think I was sheltering a lunatic, but—"

"Wait, you know of the Blind Men?" Fenris interrupted, realizing what she had said earlier.

She looked at him blankly. "I'm an elf, Fenris, living in the second-largest city in Thedas, in a country that just happens to border Tevinter. I know how to avoid the places and people that make people like me disappear." Her tone was annoyed. "Where are you even from? I was sure you were just another escaped slave from Tevinter trying to make a new life, that's why I never asked you too many questions, but seriously? Do you have a death wish?"

Fenris' face fell, taken aback by her reaction. "I am no slave," he spat, but softened after a pause. "Though you're right, I was, before." He wasn't sure why he felt he had to answer her, but he did anyway. "I am from Tevinter, as you guessed, but I have… traveled since escaping. I killed my former master when he hunted me down, five years ago, and have been a free man since."

It felt strange to say it out loud. He never had the only person he would have wanted to tell was Felissa, and she had been there with him through it all. He never thought he'd tell his story to another living person.

Looking up, he saw that the elven woman's eyes were wide. There was silence for a time. "That… is much more interesting than my ledger, thank you. But you're still insane. You're a warrior, yes, but you're going to what, just… murder all of the Blind Men?"

Fenris chuckled. This he had a good response to. "I was no ordinary slave," he started, removing his glove to reveal the white markings on his hand, "and I am no ordinary warrior."

Instinctively, she reached out to touch the markings, but he jerked his hand away. "It is painful to touch," he admitted, trying not to think of the last person who had.

"What is it?"

"Lyrium. Etched into my skin. It grants me abilities, resistance to magic, for one. I am also able to…" He demonstrated his phasing ability with one of his fingers, which Maresi reacted to with a cry of surprise and a look of wonder.

"Looks like something the College mages would be interested in, if there were any left."

Scowling, he retorted, "I've had my fill of being used by mages."

"Fair enough," she replied. "You know, rumour has it that that's where they've been taking them these past few months, the slaves that come into the city. Sure, some of them are taken away, to Tevinter or wherever, but something's going on at the College."

He felt his jaw drop.

"How do you know this? I've heard literally nothing of this the entire time I've been in Cumberland," he growled, disgruntled.

Maresi shrugged. "People talk, Fenris. You just have to listen."

He started to protest, but she was somehow right. Hawke had been the one who could make a new friend in an instant, spilling all the local rumours by the second round of drinks. It had taken Fenris four months to find out what Hawke would have learned in four seconds.

The elven woman was turning back to her ledger, the indecipherable expression having returned to her face. "Maybe next time, if I'm in a good mood, I can tell you my life story," she said quietly, laughing to herself, and opened the book again. He couldn't help but feel as if he'd been dismissed.

Fenris got up from his stool and walked towards the staircase leading up to the second floor. He couldn't help but feel he had offended Maresi, but how, he wasn't sure. However, he didn't have time to worry about it: he needed to come up with a plan, and quickly.

In the time he had spent at the boarding-house, he had managed to convince Maresi to give him a spare desk to supplement the existing table in the little room. His and Hawke's notes from before were now strewn across both, augmented by an uninspiring number of parchments containing notes he had taken since arriving in Cumberland. Mostly, they contained the details of the Aurum Company jobs he had been paid to do, with certain locations circled and scribbled specifics remembered later. He looked at them with dissatisfaction and began to sift through, looking for mentions of the Blind Men or the College. Their name was scrawled here and there, mainly identifying their former hideouts that had been taken over by other groups and cleared out by Felissa and Fenris. A sentence, noted by Hawke after meeting with one of their contacts in Ostwick, read: Blind Men connections, may be useful. The man had proven more valuable in his capacity as a link to the Antivan Crows, however. Status: deceased, said the rest of her notes on the matter.

About the College, he had even less. They had been no reason to pay attention to it until Fenris arrived in Cumberland, and he admitted he had been avoiding it. Apparently, it had been occupied by mage refugees, and he assumed the Duke of Cumberland had repurposed it after they left. His last visit to a Circle had not been pleasant, and he felt little desire to remember the events he had witnessed at the Gallows. He stared at the ceiling for a long time before falling asleep that night. The elation he felt upon discovering the presence of the Blind Men in Cumberland had quickly faded into the frustration of the unknown.

Fenris arose early the next morning, with the intention of further pestering Maresi about the Blind Men, but she was nowhere to be found, replaced at the counter instead by her elderly aunt and namesake of the boarding-house, Miva. He headed in the direction of the College, clad in a cloak and his leathers but unarmed, towards the wealthy neighbourhood that hosted it. The former palace-turned-Circle was just as striking as every local had claimed it to be, if not more: the white marble façade seemed to shimmer as it caught the early morning sun, while the many windows further reflected the light. A remarkable fountain, containing an orb of water suspended and rotating in the air, stood in the square in front of the College, clearly made possible by magic. The giant golden dome of the College was blinding, rising above the middle of the main façade. This beauty made a stark contrast to the brutality of the Gallows, but Fenris couldn't help but feel uneasy. People were being captured and brought here; why?

The entrance to the College was a giant pair of ebony doors set behind several great archways in the façade. The city guards stood blocking the way, as Fenris had suspected they would be, and he didn't even bother trying to speak to them. Instead, he bought a pastry from a vendor next to the fountain and, munching, put on his best impression of a sightseer as he inspected the perimeter of the building.

Nothing seemed amiss, though it was strange that the palace looked entirely undamaged by the mage rebellion and its subsequent refugee occupants. Wandering in and out of eyeshot of the handful of guards around the college, Fenris tried to get a good look through the windows, but most of them had their thick red curtains drawn closed. Perhaps the rebel mages had been replaced by Tevinter slavers? Fenris found it doubtful that the Duke would tolerate such behaviour from his country's historical enemy in the city. He leaned casually against a building and watched two guards kicking around dirt. One of them laughed, sword limply at his side, and clapped the other on the back. No way he knows that anything's going on, Fenris decided. Either the city guard had suddenly become burgeoning thespians, or whatever was happening in the College was happening without their, and likely without the Duke's, knowledge. That was something, at least.

It was midday by the time he decided to go home, unable to find a way in. He didn't have the disposition for climbing and keeping out of sight, and he didn't have time to find anyone trustworthy who did. Cajal had a big mouth, evidently, given that he had told Fenris about this job in the first place. He hadn't made many friends otherwise. Not that Cajal was his friend. He sighed, realizing that he felt rather lonely.

The months he had spent in Cumberland had been the longest he had stayed anywhere since Kirkwall, and Cumberland's cobblestone streets and pastel-coloured buildings had become familiar to him. Life here seemed far removed from Kirkwall, he pondered as he crossed his favourite bridge back across the Cumber, which had entire tiny shops lining its length and felt like a small street while still being elevated above the water. The city wasn't plagued with the same issues as one that was living through some of the worst years of its history. Sometimes, late at night, when the soreness in his muscles from training made the straw pallet feel like goose down and the drunkenness began to melt into sleep, he thought about how he and Hawke could have been very happy here. It was then that the child from that first dream would smile at him, just before the world drifted away into dreams.

Before Kirkwall and Hawke, after he had gone on the run from Danarius, Fenris had considered himself ruthless, self-sufficient, far removed from the needs of other, simpler people. Felissa had softened him in a way. Her patient insistence on talking through his anger had made him more self-reflective, while her humour had helped him take circumstances in stride. Far gone was the man who had ripped Danarius' heart from his chest, he had thought, though Hawke's death had momentarily evoked that brutality again. He felt now as if he was left with the worst of both these men: his anger simmered even while he ached for the relief of sharing it.

The last shop on the bridge sold apples, the temperate climate of Nevarra making them available even in wintertime. He paid for a few and put them in his knapsack for later. Returning to his room in the boarding-house, with Maresi still missing, he changed into his plate armour and decided there was nothing for him to do but finish the job as assigned.

Fenris spent the next few days training, mostly with the other mercenaries he'd be working with. Riann, his mage partner, got a kick out of his unique abilities, especially once she got the chance to see one of her lightning strikes dissipate as soon as it struck his glowing skin. Fenris would have never allowed this if not for the need to assess her proficiency (average) and particular flavour of magical ability (nervous but controlled), in case he needed to subdue her. Though he kept his ears open, he heard no whispers of Blind Men being present in the compound. And, with every hit of his blade against the wooden dummies in the yard or the shields of his fellow warriors, he seethed with frustration.

It was uncharacteristically cold on the night of the job, and Fenris felt a sharp wind whip past him as he sped out of the boarding-house into the darkness of the night. They were to meet at the compound several hours before sunrise, as the port was not as well-watched in the nighttime. Further, the Company had paid off a few members of the nighttime city guard to shirk their duties for a few hours, lest they hear the squelching of people moving through the sewers below. He uttered a curt greeting to Riann and others when he arrived, and once everyone was there, they made their way to the rendezvous point.

The entrance to the sewers through which most contraband was smuggled by the Company into the city was technically not within the port itself, but within a small cave in an outcrop of jagged rocks along the coast to the west. He and Riann were to guide a group of slaves off a rowboat, into the cave and down to the junction where the city sewers grazed the cave system. From there, the way to the drop-off point, which Fenris knew was the College, would be marked for them.

Fenris watched with dull anger as their assigned group was led off the rowboat by a hooded warrior in nondescript garb. Hand on the blade at his hip, the man stared at Fenris and Riann critically, and after awhile, nodded towards the prisoners.

The poor souls he and Riann were to escort consisted of three humans, a man and two women, and a female elf. All four wore rags; their eyes were sunken and their cheekbones jutted out. The elf's already large eyes looked exaggeratedly pronounced and he saw them take on a hint of hostility once she looked at him. Something about the pride in her demeanour made him think she was Dalish, though she bore no vallaslin. He could only imagine the disgust with which she viewed him.

The prisoners' hands were bound, though the bindings served little purpose, as they were so weak that they could barely stumble in the direction that Riann led them. Fenris watched them from behind as their group walked single file into the cave. They did not speak amongst themselves; in all likelihood, the Blind Men would have separated slaves with friendly or familial relationships in order to weaken their spirits.

They reached the sewer entrance. Fenris tried to deduce as much as he could from the prisoners about their purpose here in Cumberland as they hopped gingerly through the crumbling entrance, illuminated by Riann's staff. He couldn't understand why they had been treated so badly, especially the humans, who he knew would fetch a good price in Tevinter. He had seen it firsthand. Good-looking, healthy slaves always sold better, but their emaciation, along with the slight limp that the man exhibited, would certainly lower their value in the Minrathous market.

So, their appearance didn't matter, meaning that they were useful in some other way. And this use didn't depend on their physical health. He kicked himself internally. Of course! They were mages. Why else would Aedan assign all magical and magic-adjacent personnel to this mission? That was no doubt the reason for the bindings as well. Bound mages could still cast spells, but it was more difficult and thus easier to control.

"There it is," called out Riann, jolting Fenris out of his musing. She gestured to a mark on the sewer wall: a dwarven rune painted in black next to an arrow that indicated their direction of travel.

He pondered his last question as they made their way through the sewers, eerily illuminated by the blue light emanated from Riann's staff, trying their best not to step off the stone walkway into the sludge below. Why were these mages being taken to the College of Enchanters? His first thought was of the refugee mages. Had they stayed at the College, and now, having acquired some funds (perhaps from some generous benefactor sympathetic to their cause) were liberating enslaved mages? Perhaps they had no funds, and intended to fight the Blind Men and therefore the Aurum Company, to make off with this cargo?

They turned a corner into a section of the sewers with torches on the wall, and Riann extinguished her staff. They were getting close. Fenris steeled himself for a fight, thinking of how he could appear to fight in earnest, for Riann's sake, while not overwhelming whoever the refugees could throw at them. As they approached the stone stairs leading to the entrance to the College, marked also by the dwarven rune, a tall woman appeared, dressed in sumptuous black robes with trimmings of red fur. This was no refugee. Fenris' heart dropped immediately, and he looked around instinctively for an escape route. A Tevinter slaver, in the heart of Cumberland. Though he had been doubtful, he should have known: this was the most straightforward, if implausible, explanation for the slave trade taking place here.

He had to think quickly. The mage greeted them haughtily and yelled at their charges to hurry up and follow her.

"That was easy," Riann remarked as they followed the markings for the route that led back to port. "Ready for the next one?"

Fenris glanced into the entrance of a tunnel that connected to the one they were following. It led in the direction of the College, as far as he could tell. "Fine," he replied, and casually added, "I just need to find somewhere to, uh, relieve myself."

Riann rolled her eyes. "Well, you're in a sewer, opportunities abound. Meet you back at the cave entrance?"

He nodded, and, looking over his shoulder, ducked into the tunnel he had noticed.

"Don't get lost!" Riann called behind him.

His heart was beating very quickly. His markings glowed white for a few moments before he melted into his surroundings, following the tunnel, which was much darker and damper than the ones he had been walking in before, an inch of wastewater dirtying his boots. In the distance, he spotted an archway lit by torches on either side. Keeping close to the wall, he approached slowly so as not to make much noise. A mage in similar garb to the tall woman stood in the archway, idly picking at his fingernails and periodically looking in both directions into the darkness of the tunnel. His staff leaned against the wall. No shadows moved other than his, suggesting that he was alone.

Fenris waited for the mage to become distracted again and crept up behind him, clamping a hand firmly on his mouth and holding Felissa's dagger to his throat.

"Move or make any noise and I will slit your throat," he said quietly into the mage's ear, his flesh becoming opaque once more as the mage tried to reach for his staff. The man breathed heavily against his hand and nodded. Fenris maneuvered both of them around so that he could see the passageway. A small landing led to a set of stairs curving left. In front of the landing was a magical barrier, glowing orange like the torches.

"Dispell it," Fenris growled. The mage had started to sweat and made a gesture towards the barrier. Fenris felt a chill pass over him but his grasp remained steady. The mage, realizing his cold spell had done nothing, started shaking. "Try again," Fenris said coldly, digging the tip of the dagger into the man's neck until a small jewel of blood appeared.

With a jittery wave of his hand, the mage's barrier was gone. Fenris released his grip on the man's mouth, and before he could say anything or turn around, slit his throat with a sharp movement of the dagger. The mage slumped in Fenris' arms, and he carefully placed him in a seated position against the wall. Hopefully, no one would come looking for him until Fenris was long gone.

Sheathing his dagger, Fenris crept up the stairs, watching for enemies above. He suppressed a sigh. Here was the creeping he had hoped to avoid. He heard footsteps and stopped, back pressed against the wall. Faint voices, talking in Tevene, passed by somewhere above. He could barely discern the words.

"Fere fieri," a man's voice echoed. It was almost done, with "it" being the slave delivery. Riann was bound to be wondering where he was.

"Bene," replied a woman, possibly the one he had seen, and told him to bring them to the cell once they were all here. The rustle of robes and their fading footsteps suggested they had passed. Fenris took a few steps upwards and realized that the stairway opened into an archway to a hallway that was perpendicular to the staircase. Forcing his flesh to fade once again, he peered around the edge of the doorway. The long hallway was lined with dungeon cells. Immediately across the hall from the archway was a heavy door. Something told him he had to go in there.

Heart galloping, Fenris dashed across the hall after checking that no one was in eyeshot and moved to open the heavy door a crack. His short look inside revealed that the large room had tables laden with books, papers, and flasks containing mysterious liquids, but otherwise seemed unoccupied. Fenris crept inside.

Appreciating that he was running out of time, he grabbed the torch off the wall and went to examine some of the writings. This was useless, he quickly understood. Venhedis. He couldn't read Tevene, and even though it used the same alphabet as Common, he could hardly spend an hour in here puzzling over spellings. The flasks, too, were a mystery to him; he was no apothecary and thus could not guess at the purpose of the thick red liquid contained within them. Another table housing a collection of skulls caught his eye. They were all perforated at the top, but for what purpose, he could not fathom. Though he had seen many disconcerting things through his life as a slave, his travels, and countless battles, this room was beginning to make his skin crawl.

An alcove he previously hadn't noticed was situated at the back of the room. He quickly strode over and entered, cautiously holding the torch in front of him. In it was a corpse on top of yet another table, surrounded by embalming implements. In the corner of the alcove, most strikingly, was a large red crystal: red lyrium, the kind that had driven the knight-commander of Kirkwall mad several years ago.

Furrowing his brow, Fenris placed the torch into a holder on the wall and approached the corpse, staying far away from the crystal. It was of a young human woman, brunette and clearly healthy prior to her death. The body seemed strangely fresh, as if she were merely sleeping, but she was so still that she had to be dead. Her chest wasn't moving. The top of her head had been shaved but new hair had grown over the shaved spot. Perhaps this was some form of magic practiced by the Mortalitasi, the Nevarran necromancers who embalmed their dead. He had heard of the Grand Necropolis, where important Nevarrans were entered and preserved for the ages, their loved ones able to visit with them. He remembered being revolted the first time he had heard of it; his time in Nevarra had done nothing to change his mind.

There was a leather-bound journal next to the body. He opened it; this one, at least, was written in Common. It seemed to be a diary of sorts, written by someone named Pascal Anaxas. Flipping to the most recent entry, dated as the day before, he began to read under a section titled "Observations".

The subject has survived a week longer than expected (see exp. 34, book 1, page 177). Breathing rate drops sporadically and must be restarted manually – I have used the spell from page 27 in this book to do so six times today alone. Height, weight, complexion have not altered significantly from week 2 (see page 79).

Fenris skimmed through some descriptions of the subject's pulse and physical characteristics. She was described as brunette, human, female, approximately 29 years old. It seemed this woman was subject 47.

The implant location (region 17) has had positive effects on survival, as evidenced by continued survival and no significant weight loss of the subject. Furthermore, when lucid and under duress, the subject is able to manipulate the Fade, though without any physical manifestation of her abilities. This is consistent with results from subject 47, where region 17 was removed and Fade manipulation abolished.

Further testing following crystal growth is required to determine if implant placement is conducive to magical ability induction.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to understand what he had just read. They had put something in the body of this poor woman, who, up until yesterday at least, had been alive. And this made her able to manipulate the Fade? Stomach churning, he flipped back in the book, and stopped when he came across an illustration. It showed a series of skulls, with a line indicating "incision location" on a spot on top of the head. For complete removal, it read, larger square must be cut from skull. For implantation, smaller incision will suffice.

These… monsters were cutting into people's brains and implanting something, probably red lyrium crystals. Others, like subject 47, were having sections of their brains removed. All in search of removing or augmenting magical ability. And there had been fourty-seven of them.

Fenris' ears rang with shock, his chest was tight, nausea building in his stomach. The journal dropped from his hand and thudded onto the floor. He was not a naïve man. He had witnessed unimaginable cruelty at the hands of Tevinter magisters, blood magic, unspeakable violence. He knew the world was a dark place, and that those in power would always facilitate terrible actions. Nevertheless, he felt as if the evil he was witnessing here had shaken him to the core in a way that few things ever had.

Suddenly, Fenris heard a stirring from the woman he had assumed was dead. His blood turned to ice as she opened her eyes, glowing red like the crystal behind her.

"Please…" she whispered, her speech slow. Each breath required a gargantuan amount of effort. "Help… me…"

She seemed to recognize that he wasn't one of her captors. He rushed to the woman's side, although he couldn't imagine how he could help her, other than—

"Kill me…" she said chokingly, weakly gesturing to the dagger on his hip. "Please…"

Fenris was filled with sympathy. How many times had he himself wished to die, while incurring Danarius' wrath? He was glad to have lived, it was true – but in his case, his torment had ended, the pain ceased, his life changed for the better, over time… He could see no escape for this woman, other than death. Evidently, she felt the same, tugging on his armour, not even able to whisper now.

He had to be merciful. Cradling the back of her shaved head, he lifted it up, and plunged Hawke's dagger deep into the base of her skull.

"I am sorry," he murmured.

She went limp almost immediately. Gently, he closed her still-open eyes that had ceased to glow. His heart started to race again. He needed to get out of here before he was caught.

Gathering all the papers and books from both the main room and the alcove, he piled them on the table, next to the woman's body. He looked around, finding an oil lamp, opening it, and drizzling its contents over the woman's body and the papers. For good measure, he went back into the main room and fetched the flasks of mysterious liquid. Suddenly, he heard the creak of the door to the main room opening behind him, and jumped away from the doorway, hiding behind the wall.

"Jakob, Mistress Dianthia is looking for the log from last month, do you have it? Where are my files?"

The man strode into the room and came face to face with the tip of Fenris' sword. The torchlight illuminated the shock on his face, pale even in the warm yellow light.

"Are you Pascal Anaxas?"

"Yes, who the hell—"

His sentence was cut short by the sword sliding into his chest. Perhaps, if this man oversaw the project, the knowledge required to repeat these heinous acts would die with him. Unfortunately, Fenris did not feel confident in this assumption.

Taking one last look around the room, he took the torch off the wall, and tossed it onto the oil-soaked body of the woman. He paused to watch the flames catch.

"And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword," he muttered, reciting a verse from the Canticle of Transfigurations. Fenris was not a pious man, but it felt right to do so.

As the flames grew stronger, illuminating the room with their dancing orange light, Fenris snatched a ring of keys from Pascal Anaxas' belt. Once more rendering his body transparent, he sped out of the room after checking that the hallway was empty. He ran over to one of the cells and saw that the group of prisoners he had led to the Tevinter mage was in it. Their eyes widened with surprise and fear to see him, other than the elven woman, who scowled.

"What are you doing?" she hissed as he started trying different keys on the locked cell door.

"You need to get out of here," he growled back. The lock opened with a soft click. He tried to open the door quietly. "Quickly, now!"

The humans hesitantly emerged. He knew they expected some trick. The elf woman stared at him cryptically.

"Who sent you? I—"

"No one sent me, now come on and be quiet!"

Shaking her head and pursing her lips, the elf left the cell. Together, the four prisoners followed Fenris down the stairs to the sewers. Pressing a finger to his lips and waving the prisoners forth, he drew his sword and crept down the steps. Thankfully, no one had come to replace the guard slumped against the wall.

They reached the landing. "You did this?" the elf woman demanded, eyes narrowed at him.

"Obviously," he replied, taken aback by her anger. Thinking of Maresi, he continued, "I know someone who can hide you, but we need to get to the Old Yard—"

"Don't bother," the elf woman cut him off, and charged into the tunnel. "Come," she ordered.

Obeying, the other prisoners tailed her down the tunnel. Puzzled, Fenris followed suit. She came to a sudden stop, and she waved her hand, which had started to glow, over a nondescript section of the wall. Suddenly, the bricks melted away to reveal a hidden tunnel.

"It was not supposed to happen this way," she announced, stepping into the tunnel while glaring at Fenris, "but this man has forced my hand. Follow me and you will be free." The three other mages entered the tunnel behind her, but when Fenris felt compelled to follow, she blocked his path.

"It is not your time, Fenris."

What? How did she know who he was? His eyes widened with shock, but she did nothing to assuage him.

"Flee to your home, you will be safe there. The horrors you have witnessed today are nothing compared to the filth of the Venatori, whose master seeks to enslave the world. Rest easy with the knowledge that we will fight him until the bitter end."

With that, she pushed him lightly away from the tunnel entrance. As he stumbled backwards, the bricks fluidly reappeared. When he went to touch them, they were as solid as any wall he had ever leaned against. He heard voices coming from behind him, calling out in Tevene to the mage he had slain. And thus, he ran swiftly through the sewers until the pounding of his heartbeat drowned out the furious racing of the questions in his mind, attempting to predict the consequences of his actions this night.