Fenris learns of the existence of an unexpected haven, and is offered the chance to be an agent of real change.
For ambiance: Aen Seidhe - Witcher 3 Soundtrack (repeat as needed) and Afternoon - Qualia.
Maresi didn't look at Fenris once during their brisk walk to the compound, and instead elected to hold tightly onto Ladarawen's hand as she led her along. Soon after they emerged into the street from a sewer grate, Seri and the two other elves whose names Fenris did not catch separated from them, a bound, hooded, and gagged Cadash in tow, slipping easily into the shadows. Now, he and Maresi followed the tall elf and the mage to their compound outside the Nevarra City alienage.
Ladarawen had set ablaze the underground chambers where Fenris and Maresi had been held. Maresi had watched as it burned, a similarly fiery look in her eyes, for a few moments before Ladarawen gently pulled her away. The mage had a way with people, it was clear; even Fenris was not immune to it, the normal anxiousness induced by a clandestine getaway disappearing as soon as she drew near. It must be magic, he deduced, but not any he had ever encountered. It was not blood magic, that much was clear, but it was present constantly and appeared to require no effort on Ladarawen's part to activate. The sensation on his skin was similar to that of Anders' healing. He tried to stay away from her as much as possible, though he suspected that this aura was why Maresi stayed so close.
They passed by the ziggurats of the Grand Necropolis, guarded by ominous golden statues of old Nevarran kings, occasionally gleaming with the patches of moonlight that broke through the clouds overhead. They slunk through alleys adjacent to the gate, so as not to catch the attention of the guards that stood, eyes sharp despite the late hour, leaning on their spears. Just once, they narrowly missed turning into an alley with a group of guards standing and smoking from their pipes. One turned to look as they quickly turned back the way they came, but Ladarawen whispered a quick cantrip as they passed, and the guard rapidly became extremely fascinated by his belt buckle. When he looked up again, they were long gone.
Fenris suspected that had he and Maresi not been hindering their pace, the pair of lithe, tall elves would have already made it home twice over. What was a sprint to Maresi (perhaps boosted a bit by Ladarawen's magic), was a near sprint for Fenris, a seasoned warrior (and successful escapee from many pursuits), and seemed nothing more than a leisurely jog for even the mage. Despite this, they betrayed no impatience in their manner, only smiling encouragingly as their group avoided yet another patrol.
Soon, they reached what appeared to be a dead end in an alley near the alienage, ending their breakneck pace and giving Fenris a moment to take a few haggard breaths. Aron and Ladarawen looked barely winded.
Spear in hand, Aron tapped out a complex rhythm on a brick in the wall of the dead end. He bowed his head and whispered something under his breath; suddenly, a glowing white outline of a door appeared in the wall, and, shimmering, it disappeared to reveal a warm glow of firelight. Aron stepped through the now-evident magical doorway and gestured for Fenris to follow. His markings sparking unpleasantly as he approached the doorway, he stepped through…
…into an enormous space, much larger than the buildings surrounding the wall Aron had tapped on suggested could be hidden there. Dazed, he stumbled after Aron, who was leading them along the perimeter of what looked like the compound's main courtyard. A group of elves seated at one of the many wooden tables in the courtyard turned up their vallaslin-decorated faces briefly as their group passed, but quickly resumed their conversation.
The rest of the compound was quiet. Quaint apartments formed the perimeter of the square, their architecture in the typical Nevarran style, white stucco walls framed by thin, geometric lengths of dark wood. Some of the windows still shone with light despite the late hour. Ivy that had stubbornly climbed many of the outer walls gleamed in this combination of lamp and moonlight.
Aron stopped by the door of one of the apartments. Ladarawen pulled Maresi gently as she pushed the wooden door open, her hand glowing light blue. Aron beckoned before entering. Fenris followed close behind.
They had entered a hallway with a narrow stairwell to the right, and an inner door to an apartment on the left. The same blue glow was applied by Ladarawen to the handle, and as Fenris drew near her in the cramped space, he started to feel the effects of her calming aura more acutely. He tried to keep alert as he followed her into the cozy apartment but found himself more relaxed and welcoming of rest than he had been in months. Something in his gut told him he could trust these elves. They had rescued him and welcomed him to their home without hiding its seemingly secret location. If it was a trap, it was a poorly-laid one.
The apartment was spacious but modestly furnished with a simple bed for two people, and a few cots stacked on each other in the corner. Next to the larger bed was a curtained area, likely harbouring a wash closet. A fireplace was the focal point of the room, with a pot nestled in some long-dead coals and a large wooden table nearby. There was even a bookshelf in another corner, along with a small desk and an armchair. Animal furs dressed the floor in multiple places. Aron, as if sensing Fenris' tiredness, dragged two cots towards the hearth, which Ladarawen set ablaze with a snap of her fingers. A fur was quickly placed on the cot next to him, as he went through the well-rehearsed movements of removing his armour. Maresi crumpled onto the other pallet, and with a whisper from the mage, was fast asleep in seconds.
Aron watched them both curiously from his seat at the table. Fenris gave him a hard look as he set down his armour, to which the tall elf replied, "You have nothing to fear here, lethallin. Rest now – the dawn is wiser than the moonlight."
Ladarawen sat next to him, placing an affectionate hand on Aron's shoulder, and added, "Rest, halin'panelan."
Breathing in the odour of incense and bergamot, Fenris found their words comforting despite the misgivings he doubtlessly should have. Before he could ask the meaning of the Elvhen uttered by the mage, he was pulled, as if by an invisible hand, onto the pallet and into a deep sleep.
He knew it was a dream. He knew it was a dream because when he opened his eyes, in Aron's place at the table in the little Nevarra City apartment sat Felissa.
"The Veil is thin here," she said, as if explaining her presence, though he'd gotten used to it now. "You've been harder to find, lately."
This Felissa felt much more tangible than even the one that had led him to the forest clearing, before. Her hair was unruly and escaping her bun, just as he knew it always did, and she was wearing her Champion leathers, as she had when he had held her in their last embrace. She had that familiar look on her face, too, the one that she wore when trying to remember something she had read in a book.
He scrambled quickly out of the cot and jerked towards her, wanting desperately to take advantage of the lucidity of her apparition, but she shook her head sadly.
"You'll wake up, love."
Fenris agreed that he would prefer not to. He retracted his hand.
"Where are you?" she asked, her eyes following the movement. "It looks cozy. Have you taken a new lover, now that I'm gone?"
A hint of mirth danced behind the sorrow in her eyes. He chuckled.
"Not unless you'd imply that I've taken three lovers. Simultaneously."
She raised an eyebrow, and quirked one side of her mouth in a way that made him want to kiss her. "Spicy."
He restrained himself and answered her question instead. "It's a secret elven compound. In Nevarra City."
And, since it seemed that this time she was in his dream to serve as the confidante he so missed, he continued. "Felissa, I've gotten myself in deep shit."
"So I've heard. Mucking about with the Venatori's business has been getting a lot of people in trouble recently. Just look at me."
She gestured to her chest, from which Fenris suddenly realized a sharp, insect-like claw protruded. He flinched away in horror, but there was no blood, just the claw, at which Hawke gazed so nonchalantly.
He resisted the urge to reach towards her and forced himself to look at her again. And, even though it was a dream, his dream, the next words that slipped out of his mouth were, "Does it hurt?"
She laughed a hollow laugh. "Well, it doesn't feel great, I'll tell you that much." She softened, and added more quietly, "But no, it doesn't hurt."
He so longed to hold her. To rip the awful claw from her chest, to fetch Anders, or Ladarawen, or any other thrice-damned mage who had been too useless to save her when it mattered. To have them heal her, and bring her to him…
"Hawke, I—"
She put up a hand to stop him. "I know. Me too." As if choosing her words very carefully, she continued. "I don't know how much I should say… I've never gotten this far before. If I get too… real… it always stops, and then I can't find you for months."
Fenris' heart skipped a beat. He held his breath as he watched Felissa chew on her lip hesitantly, fidgeting with a buckle in her armour.
"Do you… do you mean to say—"
"Shh, love. Lest you end it too soon," she stopped him once more.
He nodded. He realized his hands were shaking. He saw how she longed to take them in hers.
Instead, Felissa smiled weakly at him. "Tell me what has happened to you lately."
He barked a laugh, and told her about his escape from Cumberland, capture, and subsequent rescue. Felissa nodded along as if she already knew this but listened all the same.
"You are safe now. I know it," she declared fiercely.
She was so beautiful like this, skin bathed in firelight, eyes ablaze and determined. His chest felt like it would burst.
"I miss you, Felissa. With every essence of my being. I am yours, forever," he professed, tears falling freely down his cheeks.
"I know, love. I know."
They gazed at one another in this dream by firelight. Felissa gave a heavy sigh.
"No point delaying the inevitable," she murmured, getting up. "I'm going to tell you something, and then you'll wake up, or at the very least, the dream will end. So please, listen carefully."
He shuddered but nodded sharply.
"The Venatori are looking for elven artifacts corrupted with red lyrium," and no sooner had she finished her phrase, Fenris felt the air around him start to compress. Pieces of the walls around him started to rip open, disintegrating as though they were thin parchment that was burning. Felissa paid no attention to this and continued intently. "I don't know why, but they're important somehow. The one they're hunting now—" This time she let out a groan as the claw in her chest reappeared. The wound bled freely now, with a dark ichor-like substance. Gritting her teeth, she continued as bricks began to fall from the ceiling. "—it's somewhere in Tevinter."
He stepped closer to her, close enough to touch. He could see the painful sheen of sweat on her brow.
"Wait," she whispered, in agony. "You must—"
Now, a veritable gale of wind stole the words from her lips. She shielded them with her hands. "You need to—"
The room was truly melting away now, a harsh, terrifying darkness enclosing on them, the firelight long gone. Fenris could wait no longer: he wrapped his arms around her, hands burning longingly into her familiar embrace, and felt her breath hot on his ear as she whispered, "Find the other wolf."
She slipped from his grasp and the darkness ate them both.
A gentle hand on Fenris' shoulder woke him just as the darkness in his dream consumed him. Even as he rustled awake, the dream slipped from his mind's eye, leaving him only with a sense of unease. He opened his eyes to see the concerned face of Ladarawen, holding a mug of water towards him.
He sat up in his cot and downed the water gratefully.
"A bad dream," the mage remarked as she watched him.
"Yes. Thank you," he murmured, wiping his mouth, and glanced over at Maresi, who whimpered softly in her sleep. "Will she be alright?"
Ladarawen sat down cross-legged next to him. Stilted, she replied, "Yes. But healing will be… slow."
Fenris stared into the now empty mug. Though Ladarawen's calming aura blunted the worst of his guilt, he still knew that Maresi's suffering was his fault. There was no way to right this wrong.
As if reading his mind, Ladarawen turned to look intensely in his eyes. "She will forgive. As lanasta'ra."
"Perhaps."
"Dreams… they are difficult here. Real. Yes?" Her eyes were huge and a fascinating violet colour that he had never seen on anyone before. He nodded, trying to remember the dream, coming up with nothing but a hint of Hawke's smile. Ladarawen persisted, brow furrowed as she looked for the words in Common.
"Ir abelas. It is sethenara. I walk well here. And you do too." She gestured to his markings. "Alive."
Fenris didn't understand what she was saying, but Aron was nowhere to be found to clarify. Instead, he simply nodded again, and the mage seemed satisfied. Her robes swept up fluidly as she rose to stand.
Rubbing his eyes, Fenris followed her, stretching once he was up. He felt the most rested he had in months.
"Ladarawen," he inquired as he followed her to sit at the table, his tongue stumbling over her name, "what was that word you said last night? Halin—something."
She smiled sadly, much like Hawke had in his dream. "It is you. Halin'panelan."
There was a whisper of fabric on metal as the curtain beside the larger bed slipped open and Aron emerged, sporting a robe similar in cut to the mage's but inlaid with intricate patterns like those Fenris had observed on his armour the night before. He wiped his face with a towel and set it casually on the table near the hearth.
"It is the Elvhen word for what you are," Aron said evenly, sitting across from Fenris. "It means lyrium warrior."
"Apt," remarked Fenris with a frown. "No Dalish has ever called me that."
Ladarawen opened her mouth to speak but Aron seemed to stop her by gently laying his hand on her forearm. "Few clans would know of the halin'panelan."
He was interrupted by Maresi stirring awake. She murmured something from her cot, and Ladarawen went quickly to her side. A wave of guilt immediately hit Fenris upon the sound of the woman's voice.
Aron smiled warmly. "We will breakfast, then."
Fenris forgot about his questions. The tall elf got up to retrieve something, food presumably, from a crate near the desk. In a few moments, Maresi was up and seated at the table, drinking water from a mug like his and chatting quietly with the mage next to her. She very pointedly avoided looking at him.
He sighed miserably, and said quietly, "Maresi."
She ignored him but her eyes jerked briefly in his direction.
"Maresi. I know nothing I can say or do can make up for what's happened to you because of me. I wish it had not been so, but know that I deeply regret it." Unbidden tears caused his voice to choke on the last few words.
Maresi finally looked at him, with a mixture of pity and reproach. When she spoke, her voice held much less of the ire she had shown him before.
"I should have thrown you out as soon as you told me about your stupid plan, with the Blind Men." Her tone was hard as silverite, but she softened quickly. "Can't believe I let a pretty face and some brave words stop me from dealing with a problem customer. I've kicked Yevin out for much less."
It seemed that she had been thinking about it. Fenris was unsure of whether he should break the silence that ensued, but Maresi continued in a few moments.
"I knew it was about you, y'know? When they first snatched me up. And the first thing I thought was, 'Thank the Maker Miva's not here'. As if I should be more worried about leaving the boarding-house unattended."
The flinty quality returned to her tone. "To be honest, I knew that if you got into any trouble, it'd come back to me. Had to. I'd seen you say goodbye to some shady mercenary types when coming in before." Her voice dropped to a sad whisper and she fiddled with her hands. "Maker, I was stupid. Thought if anything happened, it'd at least ease the boredom."
Now, it was Fenris' turn to gaze at her with empathy. At that, she puffed up.
"Don't you dare pity me. I'm not some wilting wallflower. I've gone through harder shit than this. It's good you folk," she gestured to Ladarawen, who had set about boiling some water, and Aron, who had returned to the table with some kind of circular cake, "showed up when you did, but I'd have gotten out of there. Worse scrapes, and all that."
Fenris was glad, somehow. Maresi's spirit did not seem to be easily cowed.
He felt a resounding sadness that she had gone through worse, too.
"All the same, I am sorry," he said simply.
She waved her hand dismissively. "You were on a mission. I get it. Hero, or whatever. Flames, I had the Champion of Kirkwall's lover staying in the boarding-house and I didn't even know it."
Fenris couldn't help but wince.
With a sip from her mug, Maresi wiped her mouth. "Just wish you'd have thought about the normal folk around you, that's all."
Suddenly, Fenris wondered at the state of his companions from Estwatch. Whether they had gotten out of the city alive. Whether his actions had led to their deaths, like they nearly had for Maresi. Maker, he hadn't even wondered before now, months down the road.
Miserably, he watched as Aron cut the cake into little slices and Ladarawen brought out a steaming teapot and two more mugs. The conversation turned to more banal things, including an offer extended to Maresi (and Fenris) to stay as long as they liked in the compound. They ate the cake, which was soft and crumbly and flavoured with spices that Fenris didn't recognize, and sipped the aromatic tea. It was surreal to be dining casually with people who had been complete strangers just two days ago. Fenris couldn't tell if his comfort was the result of Ladarawen's aura, or whether it was something else.
Once they had all eaten and drunk their fill, Aron suggested they get some fresh air before the bustle of the day overtook the compound. Aron fetched a thick coat for Fenris, who he noticed was shivering. As they walked together, the cold morning air causing their breaths to puff out white, Fenris was astonished to note that his body felt as good as it ever had, which was shocking given his treatment over the past few days. The physical effects of a hard ride, poisoning, and imprisonment had all vanished under Ladarawen's hand. She was clearly an even more talented healer than Anders had been.
Perhaps that was why Maresi seemed so easy and willing to forget her anger towards him. She and the mage walked ahead of him and Aron, though Ladarawen cast meaningful looks towards Fenris every once in awhile. Aron walked in silence, as if waiting for Fenris to say something.
Elves, and they were all elves, were now beginning to emerge from the apartments to start their days, some calling out to each other in greeting, others rubbing the sleep from their eyes as they set about feeding pigs and chickens, fetching water from the well in the middle of the courtyard, or collecting herbs from their gardens. Occasionally, one would notice Aron, and then Fenris, and their eyes, especially those of tall, lithe elves with no vallaslin, would follow his markings until they could stare no longer.
He remembered the conversation they had been having before Maresi woke up. He turned to Aron.
"About the... halin'panelan?"
Aron's smile faded into an inscrutable expression, but he seemed amenable enough to Fenris' question.
"Ah, yes. I was recounting why you may not have heard of your kind from any Dalish you may have encountered. The knowledge of how such a warrior is made has long been lost to the Dalish. It was a position of great honour and great secrecy in ancient Elvhenan."
"It hardly felt like an honour to me," Fenris muttered bitterly, kicking up some dirt with his shoe, though he did recall Varania's words about how he had wanted this fate. He had not written her in too long. Perhaps he should, now that he was so close to Tevinter.
"Hence Lada's comment yesterday. In Arlathan, the halin'panelan were a sacred sect, elite warriors meant to protect the People. We do not know how your magister," and this word Aron spat, with great contempt, "discovered how to perform the ritual, but it was certainly not meant for slaves, under duress."
"Do not call him my magister," Fenris pronounced swiftly. "He is dead by my hand. I am a free man."
"Yes. Ir abelas, lethallan."
They walked in silence for a few moments as Fenris tried to process this new information. It was true that he had never heard of any other slave in Tevinter being branded like he had. From what Danarius had told him, there had been many failures (and he had felt sick, thinking what they might have looked like) before him. He had just assumed that the ritual that had marked him was another one of Danarius' demented tortures, an invention of his own creation.
It was strangely comforting to know that at least Danarius' most lasting mark on him, entwined with every aspect of Fenris' very being, held more inherent significance than just another brand of ownership. If Aron spoke the truth, the markings, and the abilities he had gained thanks to them, had made him into something that even a Tevinter magister could not pervert, no more than they could change the past.
Too, he felt the old rage at the man whose heart he had ripped out years ago flare, having been denied this for so long. Undoubtedly Danarius had known that the ritual was stolen. Fenris scoffed, and wondered just how much of Tevinter's "advances" had a similar source. Would he have escaped sooner, had he known that his markings were no painful brand of control, but rather meant to empower free elves of Elvhenan?
That question was not one Aron could answer.
Instead, he queried, "My markings are often… painful, to touch or apply healing to. Would this have been typical?"
Aron chewed on his lip, brows furrowed. "Truly, I do not know. The halin'panelan were secretive, and unlikely to reveal such a weakness. In memories observed in the Fade, that is," he added quickly, as if he had revealed too much.
Fenris gave him a sidelong look. "This is how you know these things? From the Fade? How does that work?"
"Yes. We have been lucky in that our group contains a fair few Dreamers, somniari, they are called here, the Hahren included. They lay down their heads and wherever they rest, they dream the memories of those who walked there long ago. Much of the history of Elvhenan has been recovered this way."
Struck, Fenris recalled, "I knew such a Dreamer, once. His name was Feynriel. We… the Champion saved him from a Sloth demon." His expression darkened as he recalled his fear of the Fade, and the anger he had held towards Hawke, then.
In contrast to Fenris' dour expression, the taller elf gave a shout of laughter. "The world truly is small, then. Feynriel is one of our contacts in Tevinter. He works with a magister, though the title does not suit her, sympathetic to our cause."
Fenris held his tongue about the danger of such mages, given how freely magic seemed to be used in the compound. In fact, this was the first time he had ever felt at such ease amongst magic users. He wondered if there was some enchantment on the whole place like Ladarawen's aura. He wondered a great many things: chiefly among them, who exactly these new unlikely allies were, on the grand stage of Thedas' players. Aron had entertained Fenris' questions thus far, and their scheduled meeting in a few weeks would have hopefully revealed this anyway. He took a deep breath.
"And what cause is that? Your note," Fenris said, thinking of the blackened, sooty packet, "suggested that your goal is to break chains. You have contacts in Tevinter. Do you seek to break slave collars?"
He thought of his own collar, broken and discarded in the dirt, somewhere outside of Tantervale. He wondered if someone had found it. And how many such collars had been found by Tevinter's neighbours over the ages.
"Many have sought this in the past, succeeding at little but the mass suffering of the slaves, in retribution." He stopped as a memory of the last slave revolt flashed in his mind's eye. Blood dripping off his sword, gauntlets stained with the same. A derisive laugh from Danarius at the naivete of the ratti, thinking they could free themselves.
To this, Aron gave a crafty little smile.
"I will show you."
Together, they rounded a corner that Fenris was sure would be the end of the compound, but the street continued, opening into a small square.
He was accosted by the din, and then shortly after, the smell, before he was able to make sense of what was happening. As they approached, he realized this was the largest gathering of elven blacksmiths, armourers, and fletchers he had ever seen. The number of craftsmen rivaled the Dragon's Den in Cumberland; flames, it even came close to the scale of production required to provide for the military camps in Seheron, that Fenris had observed a few times with Danarius when the latter became curious about the state of the war. Wherever he looked, and despite the early hour, blades were being hammered, arrows fletched, bows strung, and spears carved. Leather armour was being lovingly shaped by Dalish and city elves alike.
Seeing Fenris' amazement, Aron grinned. "There's more," he said with a laugh. He led Fenris, weaving between workshops and stands in the bustling square, towards a warehouse, into which a few children were running, carrying as much armour and weapons as their little arms could carry. In the warehouse were crates upon crates, stacked almost to the ceiling – the children would drop off their cargo with what looked to be a grizzled quartermaster, puzzling over a large account book. Fenris followed Aron as he approached the old man.
"Hahren, how goes it today?"
The elder's frown disappeared as he saw them approach. "Aron!" he called out and clapped a wrinkled hand on the tall elf's shoulder. "Almost too well. I'm starting to suspect we'll need that second storey after all. We can only stack these boxes so high. Although I know that won't be any trouble for you," he added with a wink.
"Not at all. I'm glad to hear of it, hahren." Aron gave a pointed look to Fenris. "Let Lada know if you need any more help with your eyes, alright?"
The man gave a good-natured grunt and got back to his scrutinizing of the account book.
"Impressed?" asked Aron, touching Fenris' shoulder lightly. He begrudgingly admitted that he was. "There are enough sets of leathers here to outfit a quarter of the slaves in Minrathous. Enough for half, by the end of next month. We'll have enough swords, spears, and bows to outfit the lot of them by Wintersend."
Gesturing to the stacks upon stacks of crates, filling the entire warehouse almost to the brim, he smiled.
"And there are at least five more compounds like ours. Hidden, scattered across Thedas. An office in Minrathous, even. This will work, Fenris."
He reached into a crate that the children had dropped off and picked up a spear. It looked like the one he had wielded the day before, albeit with less decoration.
"You will like this," Aron declared. "Give it a feel."
Fenris frowned. "I don't typically use spears," he murmured, picking it up. As soon as his hands touched the cool metal, his markings hummed quietly. "This feels… different."
"It's Vyrantium samite. Magic-resistant and ultra-light. And when it's infused with the right runes," the tall elf continued, taking the spear from Fenris' hands and giving it a quick twirl, "it grants the bearer the ability to smite mages. Much like a templar could."
Fenris' eyes widened as his pulse quickened with excitement. Previous rebellions had always failed, as far as he knew (and according to the haughty Tevinter propaganda), because no slave army could stand a chance against the modern magic elite of Tevinter. During the last revolt, some five years before his final escape from Danarius, a few instigators had tried to reach him, hoping to take advantage of his lofty position as bodyguard to a major member of the Magesterium. It had been early after he had been marked; still bitter and in pain, he had scoffed at the messenger, who had relayed the offer once Danarius stepped away as they stood back to back in one of the Minrathous markets. Fenris shuddered, remembering the carnage he had wreaked, months later, in the same market, defending his master.
Weapons granting Templar powers, however, could change everything.
Then, Fenris thought about the cold stare of the mage who had made a passage appear out of thin air in the tunnels underneath Cumberland.
Who, in the name of the Maker and Andraste herself and all the gods whose names he couldn't remember, were these people? Inciting rebellion in Tevinter, freeing Venatori slaves, following Fenris around…
Aron placed the spear back into the crate and said, as if he could read Fenris' thoughts, "One of our groups stumbled upon you in Estwatch."
Of course. The frozen Crow. The magic even Fenris had felt was strange. The scribbled note from the freed elves.
"Watching your activities afterwards, we were surprised we had not come across you or the Champion before."
Fenris frowned, remembering their months in hiding, then their harried chase of a particularly venomous slaver coven based out of Wycome. "Just been at it for longer than you," he suggested.
"I suppose it was only a matter of time."
He exited the warehouse and Fenris followed. Raising his voice slightly over the din of the craftsmen, Aron continued, "After that, our organization was too small to worry much about you or your associates, but after you interfered with our business again in Cumberland, the Hahren suggested it would be too much of a liability for our paths to continue to intersect. And it seems that our third chance meeting has proven to be most fortuitous."
Fortuitous for Fenris, he knew the tall elf meant. He had not forgotten that he had their group to thank for his and Maresi's escape.
They left the square, and its noise, behind them as they strolled down a quieter street. "So, the strange magic that froze the Antivan Crow…"
Aron barked a laugh. "Ha! Yes, one of ours. Not Lada, she's far too soft a touch for such raw displays. But our Hahren has trained some of our people in the ways of rift magic. Manipulation of the Fade," he clarified, seeing Fenris' look of confusion. "Its necessity is recent, but the advantages in this Veiled world are many."
Discussion of such details was best left to mages, Fenris thought, having listened to many discussions of magical theory between Merrill and Anders, and decided not to ask for further explanation. However, this Hahren had come up more than once.
"Who is this Hahren?" he asked. Whoever led this organization had to be a formidable mage, likely a dangerous one. And probably elven.
They had looped back to the courtyard, where they saw a table occupied by Ladarawen and Maresi, who had acquired two bowls of stew and were eating and chatting amicably.
"The Hahren," Aron replied, swinging his legs around the bench across from the mage, "is what we amicably call our leader. Well, he's more of a mentor. He guides and shapes our purpose but each of us carves our own path. Freedom," he paused, looking at Fenris seriously, "is tantamount to the Hahren. No one is here against there will."
Ladarawen and Maresi had ceased their conversation, and now the mage said something quickly in Elvhen in her sparkling tone. Aron laughed, and nodded.
"Lada said that he'd likely love to meet you, being halin'panelan. He won't have met a warrior of your kind in ages."
Maresi gave Fenris a quizzical glance, but he simply shrugged. He'd explain later.
Lada spoke again, this time in Common. "You should… stay."
Aron's eyes widened and he shot her a brief annoyed look, then turned back to Fenris.
"I was going to offer more elegantly, but here it is. It is no secret that your cause seems similar to ours. You would have no other elf suffer your fate. We have, in our hands, the tools to accomplish that which would eliminate slavery entirely in Thedas, beginning with Tevinter. Your skills would be unmatched among us. Would you join us?"
Fenris studied the other elf's expression. He was earnest, eyes shining in anticipation of his response. Was this what they had intended? What use did they have for him, one warrior, as he was? This Hahren, why did he want their organization to reach out to Fenris, specifically?
One more question came to mind before he gave his response.
"What is your Hahren's name, and the name of the organization?"
A flash of teeth signaled Aron's satisfied smile.
"His name is Harellath, and we are the Agents of Fen'harel."
Yes, Aron did just come in here and be like, "Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my compound, join my rebellion maybe?"
The compound itself, in my brain, looks like a mixture of the Spruce Court Co-Op in Toronto, Canada and the secret mage's quarter in Novigrad in the Witcher 3. Also, if you're interested, I drew a map in Inkarnate of south-eastern Nevarra City, for unclear reasons, but it was very fun.
Huge thank you to luzial, who has graciously agreed to beta-read this work and whose suggestions have been invaluable! 3
Also, thank you to Project Elvhen for the compendium of Elvhen words/phrases. I would never have come up with "ha" (old/elder/respected) "lin" (blood) "panelan" (warrior) by myself.