Chapter 9

Fenris was somewhat shocked by the ease with which he settled into being, well, if not an agent of the so-called Fen'Harel, then perhaps a casual acquaintance. An apartment had been found for him suspiciously quickly in the merry and crowded compound; Fenris wasn't one to look a gift elf in the mouth, but he figured the magic that hid the little village from prying Nevarran eyes was used for far more than just seclusion. It was too convenient, too, that the second bedroom that had appeared for Maresi in Aron and Lada's apartment, which Aron assured Fenris had been there the entire time, contained everything she would need for her stay. After Fenris helped her write a letter to her aunt Miva, informing her that she was alive and well and to pass on her duties to Yevin in the meantime (this was Fenris' suggestion, and one he was quite proud of, as it had almost earned him a smile), Maresi had assured Lada that she would stay for as long as possible.

After accepting Aron's offer, Fenris had gone and fetched his things from the boarding-house where he hadn't spent a single night. The proprietor gave him a scowl as he left, pointedly telling Fenris that he wouldn't be getting the money back for the third night, but Fenris just gave him a smile as he walked out. Seri, one of the elves who had been with Aron when their contingent had unwittingly rescued Fenris, accompanied him, as he wasn't familiar with how to get back into the compound.

"So," she said, eyeing his markings, "are those supposed to be fake vallaslin, or something?"

Her tone was judgemental, harsh. No doubt she thought he had purposely made a mockery of her own tattoos.

"No," he replied simply, with little of the ire he might have displayed in the past when asked such a question. "I did not acquire them willingly. But," and here, he smiled, "I am told the technique is that of the ancient elves."

Seri gave a hmph of disapproval but said no more. Instead, once they reached the unmarked wall that Fenris now knew contained the entrance to the compound, she showed him how to activate the portal.

"Look at the top row. Do you see the place where the mortar is shallower?"

Fenris looked carefully. He nodded once he noticed it.

"The brick you need to tap is three to the left, seven down from that one. Got it?"

He counted and touched the stone. "This one?"

"Mm-hmm. So you need to tap out this rhythm," she demonstrated on a brick next to his. "Doesn't matter with what."

He repeated after Seri's increasingly impatient tapping several times, but it still wasn't working. The Dalish archer sighed exasperatedly.

"Try this. The words to say after are, 'Fen'Harel enansal. Ar gara revasanis.' Repeat that. It's the same rhythm."

Fenris copied her multiple times, tapping away at the brick with what he thought was the same rhythm. He supposed they were lucky that the houses in the street mostly backed out to this alley. No doubt two elves chanting and tapping on some bricks would attract attention from the locals.

After a few repetitions, the glowing outline finally appeared. Seri looked relieved and pushed past him to get through. "When you use it, don't stick around too long. This alley's quiet, but we don't want to push our luck."

As they walked the perimeter of the courtyard, Fenris kept repeating the phrase under his breath, trying to memorize it. "Fen'Harel enansal. Ar gara revasanis. What does it mean?"

Seri scowled at him as if he should already know, and snapped, "The first part is the Dread Wolf's blessing. I hope you know who that is. The second part means, 'I arrive in the place of eternal freedom.'"

The place of eternal freedom. Perhaps that was why, every time he returned to the compound, he felt as if his heart had somehow settled back into his chest, after beating too hard and too fast for weeks. Sometimes, when he stepped out of the building housing the apartment into the compound without first surreptitiously glancing his shoulder, he was faintly reminded of the night when he had first truly felt himself to be a free man. A few months after he had watched Danarius and his gaping chest crumple to the floor of the Hanged Man, he had sat in the very same bar and realized, Felissa whispering in his ear about the cards she had spotted in Isabela's hand, that he hadn't thought of the magister in weeks. He'd whispered that observation back to Hawke, and a mixture of pure pride and affection had crossed her face before she had thrown her head back to laugh and pressed her lips heartily to his cheek. His heart had sung then, too.

It had been difficult to recall such things ever since he had received Varric's letter. But now that he was remembering what it was like to feel safe, it seemed to hurt a little less.

With the retrieval of his belongings, there were now new problems, mostly monetary in nature. His coin purse must have been stolen by one of Cadash's men and was now nowhere to be found. However, once he approached Aron the next day after his arrival about how he might go about making coin in the city, the tall elf waved him away.

"Your presence here is payment enough. No, I am serious," Aron insisted once Fenris started protesting. "You are, by all accounts, an immensely talented warrior and at the very least, your unique skills are unmatched by any elf alive today. Do not worry," he reassured him with a grin, "you will be very useful yet. For now, you should rest."

Aron began to walk away but turned back to softly place a hand on Fenris' shoulder. "It takes time to settle. I hope this will feel like a home to you, someday."

The word 'home' rang in the air as he walked away. He later remembered Aron's words when, having kipped out of the compound to check the post office, he'd felt uneasy enough to unwittingly look forward to going home.

It only took a few days for the apartment itself to begin to feel more like more of a home, much more than his room at Miva's had, no offense to Maresi. Sleeping in a real bed was an irresistible luxury, one he hadn't experienced since Estwatch, and even that small straw mattress had barely qualified. It was always warm, too, with firewood stacked next to the fireplace aplenty, which kept the winter chill away heartily in the nighttime. A comfortable quilt on the bed, lovingly embroidered with idyllic depictions of Dalish life, helped in this regard. Although, perhaps it was too comfortable, too familiar: sometimes, he rolled over in the morning, disoriented, to find Hawke's side of the bed empty, no Amell-red four-poster canopy above him. It was an unexpected ache to have, after bearing the worst of his grief for the past months, but finding something akin to a home again opened some wounds that he had thought long closed.

Like in Aron and Lada's apartment, there was a plumbed wash closet, though it was in the opposite corner from the bed, which Fenris preferred. He had been delighted to see a round tub for bathing, which, though not as absurdly large as Hawke's enchanted bathtub in Kirkwall, was a very welcome addition. In his first week, he'd carefully filled it, to find that it was heated with fire runes like Hawke's as well. He'd missed her then, too.

The apartment had an armour stand and sword rack, upon which he had gratefully placed his oiled plate armour and sword. There was also a desk, and it was not a small table, like the ones he'd used in Cumberland and Estwatch. There was no shortage of talented woodworkers in the compound, in addition to whoever had made his quilt, it seemed.

The bookshelf next to the desk had been empty when he first arrived. After a few moments' hesitation, he had placed the only book he owned, the collection of Fereldan folk stories Felissa had gifted to him, on the top shelf. His hands had trembled as he held the little book, light by weight but so heavy in his hands.

He would read it again, someday.

Now, a week after his arrival, having finally unpacked his other things (of which there were admittedly few), Fenris was busying himself with organizing the notes, letters, and miscellaneous sheets of paper that he had collected over the past months and which had become scattered and disorganized in his rucksack. He came across the original letter from Varric that had ruined his life and resisted the urge to open it and read it once again, as he had, repeatedly, when he first received it. Squeezing his eyes shut, he thought, she would be proud of me. If these… Agents are legitimate, I will be able to accomplish all we set out to do, and more.

Perhaps that could be enough of a tribute, though he felt deep in his heart that nothing would ever be.

As he idly read through a piece of old correspondence with a contact in Wycome, there was a rap of knuckles on his door. Fenris opened it to find an elf, shorter than him, standing with a book in their hands. The stormy grey of their eyes struck him as they smiled briefly.

"Aron said there was someone new settling in," they murmured, eyes first glancing over Fenris' markings, and then past him into the apartment. They wore no vallaslin, and their voice was very pleasant, a mix of liquid honey and cool steel, tinged with a musical Nevarran accent. They stuck out their hand, and Fenris shook it.

"I'm Neris. Your neighbour. I also handle correspondence for the compound. So, if you have any letters to send," they said, nodding towards the parchment in Fenris' hand, "I will get them where they need to be."

Fenris had the impression that there wasn't much that escaped Neris' notice. "Fenris," he said in response to their introduction. "I used the post office near the south gate when I got here, but I'll keep that in mind. Thank you."

He stood awkwardly at the doorway, feeling distinctly as if he was back in his dilapidated Hightown mansion and one of Hawke's friends had dropped by for a visit. It seemed Neris sensed his discomfort, for the elf gave a business-like nod and held out the book for him to take.

"If you like reading, I have made it something of a tradition to give our new arrivals a book." Their gaze was impenetrable, and Fenris felt as if it were a test.

If he liked reading. He did indeed, yet another type of love gifted to him by Felissa. He ran his hands on the well-worn cover. "Lelan's Crossing," he murmured, and looked up at Neris gratefully. "Thank you."

Another nod from Neris. "You may find it useful. I will leave you to it." Fenris watched them walk away, expeditious steps leading to the door down and across the hall.

Suddenly, something occurred to him. "Neris, wait," he called after them.

They turned to face him once more, a quizzical expression on their face.

"I have some… friends," Fenris started, belatedly realizing how stupid this would sound, but continued. "I don't know where they are, but they would have fled Estwatch several months ago." He tried to think of any details that could place his former companions. Reja was a surface dwarf whose family was from Ostwick. Perhaps she'd returned there. Gideon had a sister in Amaranthine, while Stagio sailed with the Armada. Fenris ran a flustered hand through his hair. "Would it be impossible to send word?"

Neris flashed him a grin that was now more genuine than the previous cursory ones. "I think, Fenris," they said softly, "you will find that not much is impossible around here."

Hours later, Fenris handed off a batch of letters to his new neighbour and fell into what had become his routine with an ease that he had not felt since Felissa had left. The next morning, he woke at noon, a refreshing callback to his Kirkwall days when his reclamation of life as a free man had allowed him to take charge of his own schedule for the first time. He washed his face with the cool water that flowed, at the turn of a knob, into a basin in the wash closet. There was enough space in the room for him to conduct some rudimentary exercises, but today he chose not to, opting instead to practice sword forms in the nearby training yard that he had discovered around the corner from the craftsman's square. He could feel the eyes of the youngsters, sprightly elves in their teens who usually arrived with their bows in hand to the training pit by the time he had finished, fixed on him as he completed the last of his quick movements with the greatsword. Though their gazes were not unkind, just curious, he left without a word from them.

After working up enough of a sweat, he read in the courtyard (Neris had graciously offered to lend him books from their extensive library, but Lelan's Crossing was mounting to be surprisingly good) as he listened to the compound go about its business. He fetched a coffee, prepared by an older, good-looking elf named Raendil out of a little window by the courtyard, and dipped a borrowed glass into the pail of cool water that sat, always filled, by the nearby well. The coffee made him think about the moments he'd spent brewing it in Hawke's manor in Hightown, handing a steaming cup to a bleary-eyed Felissa, still dressed in her nightgown. A good memory, though the thought of thin white silk against her skin made his heart ache, too.

He drained his coffee and gave the cups a rinse with some well water, handing them back to Raendil with a grateful word, and took a walk. It was wiser to stay within the secret town unless leaving was absolutely necessary – though those directly responsible for hunting him were dead, he had no doubt someone from the multiple factions he had angered could mount the search again – so he kept his wandering within the compound's perimeter, for now. There was a bakery with a large window that he knew Hawke would have liked, and he watched for a while as the elves within kneaded and braided bread into shapes he'd never seen before. When one of the bakers gave him a smile, raven-haired and pretty, he waved half-heartedly and walked away.

Following his early afternoon of solitude, Ladarawen, along with Maresi, met him in the courtyard and whisked him to a late lunch at the compound's massive dining hall. It was housed in a warehouse just like the one where Aron had shown him weapons and armour were stored. Here, the air hummed with conversation and occasional bursts of laughter as most of the community came in from their work to eat together. The meal today was fresh, especially for winter fare, and comforting, though he couldn't quite place the ingredients, nor was he familiar with the spices used. The kitchen, curiously situated in the middle of the warehouse where the roof opened into the air, was staffed by a cabal of sharp-witted and knife-wielding city elves. One of them, a redheaded woman around Fenris' age with a wicked-looking tattoo near her temple and a gaze that reminded him of Isabela's, winked at him when he went to rinse off his plate in the provided basin by the large clay oven.

After lunch, he accompanied Ladarawen as she made her rounds; there was always a baby with a colic, a youngster with a sprained ankle, occasionally an elder with a sore lower back, to tend to. Fenris had thought perhaps such a powerful and talented healer as Ladarawen would think it beneath her to treat warts and broken bones alike, but he watched curiously as she did her best to tend to each and every member of the compound with the same serene patience, carefully considering every ailment equally. This wasn't the first time that she reminded Fenris of Anders, though she possessed none of his odiousness (and, thankfully, none of his desire to destroy religious buildings).

This time, Maresi joined them, seemingly not preoccupied with whatever else she did in the afternoons. As Fenris had seen before, she was particularly good with children – though Ladarawen did her best to soothe even the most cantankerous toddler, he noticed that she had a certain aversion to children and often looked at them as if they were foreign to her when she thought no one was watching her. Maresi, who knew a great many stories, was very distracting to any wailing babe who didn't want the strange lady to touch them.

To tell the truth, Fenris had never seen so many elven children in one place, other than in the (and he winced at this particular recollection) various flesh markets in Minrathous. As they walked from house to house, children ran like ungainly colts around the courtyard and through the compound's streets, chasing one another, and more than once Fenris caught one staring at him, at which the child would either redden or give a friendly wave. He strained to recall whether he had ever heard such laughter ringing through the streets of the alienage in Kirkwall, or even in Cumberland, before. Those streets had been abandoned and dreary, children never unaccompanied but always being tugged along by a worried and drawn parent. But these tiny elves' smiles were free and easy – Fenris even chuckled when he saw one of them yelling, brandishing a stick like a sword, about how they were Garahel and that one of the others had to be the Archdemon so that they could slay them. He also felt a pang in his chest when he saw the child's dark brown, curly hair. Like Felissa's, he thought. Like the child he had dreamt of.

He sighed heavily, and Ladarawen turned her concerned eyes towards him, but he shook his head, and she walked onward.

The afternoon bled into the evening, and as usual, a number of lanterns were set ablaze, like clockwork after the sun had set, giving the little town a warm, cozy glow. Maresi disappeared and then appeared again after dark, and together the three of them supped, bringing their meals outside. The stars that lit up the sky above the community each night were no less dense than those Fenris had seen in the deepest wilderness. When he had asked Aron about it on his first night, he'd simply winked. The light of the stars was undisturbed, too, by the roaring fire that someone had lit in the center of the main courtyard, where the people that constituted the Agents of Fen'Harel gathered, telling stories and playing strange instruments Fenris had never seen before. No matter how many times he witnessed this, he was always amazed. It was the first time in Fenris' life that he had been surrounded by so many elves; even Danarius' estate had had human slaves. Here, everyone was elven. The majority were city elves, perhaps even some escaped slaves from Tevinter, no curled vallaslin adorning their faces, and a few families were Dalish. Seri was one of these, and he approached her curiously after returning from washing his plate that night, as one of the craftsmen told a silly story for the children in the crowd. She barely glanced at him as he came to warm his hands at the fire next to her, but he still caught the glint of the flame in her pupils as she rolled her eyes.

"I am curious," Fenris said, holding out his bare palms in the firelight.

Thankfully, Seri did not walk away.

"What prompted you to join Aron and his company? As far as I have seen, the Dalish do not often involve themselves in the affairs of flat-ears and shems. And city living is hardly your custom."

She huffed at his question. "And what would someone like you know of the Dalish? There have been no clans within the borders of Tevinter in an age."

He felt a flash of irritation. "I left Tevinter a long time ago," he muttered. To answer her question, he added, "I had a… friend." Merrill had been Hawke's friend, and to Fenris, a tenuous ally. Nevertheless, he continued. "Her name was – is – Merrill, of clan Sabrae."

At that, Seri snorted. "Merrill. I met her at an Arlathvhen many years ago. She's hardly one of us. Sabrae threw her out, didn't they? She was always kind of weird."

Fenris chuckled despite his earlier annoyance. "Yes, she remains so, as far as I know."

They stood in silence for a few moments, listening to the crackle of the fire. Seri was the next to speak.

"You wouldn't recognize them, but I wear the vallaslin of Sylaise. She is the goddess of the hearth, who gave fire to the elves. I chose her," and here, her tone became fierce, "because she is said to be protector of all children and families that gather around her creation. And nowhere in our stories does it say she protects only those with blood writing to mark them."

He did not regret his question, perhaps only the surprise with which he had posed it. He did not think it unjustified, as the majority of Thedas, humans, elves, and dwarves alike, cared little enough for the plight of slaves in Tevinter. He thought of the times when, early on in his escape, he had gazed incredulously at how supposedly free people could live so close to slavery, just a country border away, and not shed a single tear.

"Thank you," he whispered, the words rising from his throat unbidden, and now it was Seri's turn to look at him with a curious, though guarded, expression.

"You need not thank me," she said in an even tone. "There is an opportunity here to right a great injustice. I acted as anyone should and seized it."

Barely anyone would, though, he thought, and gave her a quick nod before walking away.

After his conversation with Seri, Fenris felt emboldened to start talking to people. Taralin, the Dalish archer who had demonstrated the puzzlingly significant knowledge of the Antivan Crows as a part of the mission that had inadvertently rescued Fenris, turned out to somehow hail from the golden city of Rialto, despite very obviously sporting vallaslin. Fenris had found him one night when he was told by Maresi that if one was feeling peckish after dinner, it was possible to procure some fruit and sometimes even some leftover buns from some baskets in the back room of the dining hall. He had walked into the huge space to see a few groups of elves still seated at their tables, dispersed throughout the room and talking quietly, and Taralin sitting alone with a bottle of wine for company. As soon as Taralin spotted Fenris, he waved him over.

"Come, sit," he called out, voice pleasantly accented and easy from the drink. "If it isn't our newest recruit. Please, join me."

Tempted by the wine, which was the first Fenris had seen of the drink in the compound, he slid into a seat across from the Antivan. Thankfully, Taralin had a clean tumbler next to him, as well as a few that had traces of the wine in them already.

"You're in luck," he drawled, "it seems I saved a glass just for you. From my favourite vineyard, no less! I was absolutely ecstatic when I found it at that horrid excuse for a wine shop near the Grand Necropolis."

Fenris accepted the glass gratefully. It really was very good, he realized when he took his first sip.

"I have tasted some of the best," he said, recalling the rare vintages from Danarius' cellar that he and Felissa had drunk their way through over many evenings. "Where did you say the vineyard was?"

Taralin's eyes sparkled, and he cracked a wide grin. "Why, the cliffs of Rialto Bay, of course! This variety of grape is unique to the region and has the added benefit of tasting like home, to me. I have found a fellow connoisseur, it seems."

Amused, Fenris smirked and remarked, "I admit, I have not met any Dalish connoisseurs of wine, nor any who hail from an Antivan city."

The elf gave a bark of laughter and replied, "Nor are you likely to. I left my clan at the tender age of sixteen to, as Keeper Adra would put it, 'waste my youth,' in Rialto. Really, I think more of us should do it. Like I keep telling Seri," he said with a wicked grin, "there are some things that only the city can teach you." He gave a contented, reminiscent sigh. "The years did catch up eventually, though. So, well, here I am."

Fenris raised a brow. "You're from Seri's clan, then?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, Seri's from around Hunter Fell. We joined up at around the same time, though. That's why we run missions together."

At this mention, Fenris immediately seized the opportunity. "What kind of work do you usually do?" Taralin didn't bite, though.

"Don't worry," he said wilily. "I expect Aron will let you know soon enough. In the meantime, let me know if you'd ever like to train against a rapier, yes?"

Fenris said he would, and finished the glass, waving goodbye as he continued his search for a crisp apple.

Taralin was not the one to meet him in the training yard the next day, however.

"Fenris!" called out Aron as Fenris approached, greatsword on his shoulder. He watched with fascination as the tall elf finished up his form with several elegant whirls and sharp thrusts of his spear. He wore a set of beautifully engraved plate armour, moving with a litheness and speed that Fenris had not thought possible. Moreover, Aron was barely sweating. Fenris came to lean against the fence of the training pit.

"Your speed is impressive," he commented. Aron bowed gracefully and gestured for him to enter the dirt pit. Fenris hopped the fence to look appreciatively at Aron's spear, now casually at his side.

"A compliment, coming from you. I was hoping to find you here, actually. I would be honoured if you would spar with me, halin'panelan."

Fenris wondered if this was a test. Probably, but Aron's smile was so earnest that perhaps his claim of being honoured by this fight was true, as well.

"Of course."

They began by circling one another slowly, Aron respectfully allowing Fenris to move as much as necessary to wake up the muscles of his legs and arms. "Ready?" the other man asked. Fenris nodded, and they sparred.

He opened with several sweeping blows, which Aron tried to circumvent by jabbing up towards his throat, then down at his groin. Fenris evaded them easily despite his full plate and knocked the spear to the side, aiming to lunge forward to lightly tap Aron's plated chest, but when his sword arrived there he found only empty space. Aron tapped the spear tip against Fenris' shoulder; he grimaced, and they reset.

This time, Fenris sidestepped Aron's initial jabs and easily knocked the spear to the side, throwing off the other elf's balance. A moment later, Fenris landed a hit on Aron's chest plate with a quick slash; he conceded, and they reset again.

Aron was the first to attack, now, agilely crossing the space between them and whipping his spear forward towards Fenris' throat. He simultaneously ducked and threw up the flat of his sword to deflect, strafing quickly to the side, but was forced to leap backward to avoid Aron's spear from hitting the plate above his stomach. Holding his sword upright, now, he rushed Aron, who slipped away with impossible speed from several diagonal slashes Fenris threw his way. Finally, Fenris grew impatient. He reached into the air around him, granting him an impossibly fast leap forward, with which he brought down a blow, stopping at the last moment before he could hit Aron's side. Aron simply smiled widely and shook his head in disbelief.

"I never thought I'd see that ever again. Thank you, Fenris." To Fenris' credit, Aron was sweating in earnest now, as was Fenris himself. They both leaned against the fence, weapons placed carefully beside them. Looking up, Fenris saw that they had amassed quite an audience.

"I do not often get the chance to come here," Aron said, following Fenris' gaze. "The People see that you are a worthy opponent, as well." He looked at Fenris seriously. "Some of the youngsters have been inquiring about you. They wonder if you would teach them how to fight. You are not obligated, of course," the other elf clarified in a careful, measured tone, "but this is one of the ways in which our warriors often choose to spend their time."

Fenris crossed his arms, recalling a similar request made by Aveline many years ago. "A warrior like me is made, not trained," he replied, frowning.

Aron nodded. "Let me know if you reconsider." He picked up his spear. Fenris did the same with his sword and set up the starting position for his first sword form.

Aron turned to leave, but before he exited the training pit, he looked back at Fenris.

"I know you are curious," he said, only slightly ominously. "Come, armed, to the northern gate of the city at sundown. I think," and Fenris saw a gleam in his eye, "you may like to be involved in this next mission."

Thus, Fenris found himself at the gate after a quick meal, in his leathers and his cloak, being greeted surreptitiously by Seri around the corner from the guard.

"By the Creators, put your hood up, man!" she hissed, looking around as he walked over. "The guards don't take too kindly to elves like us trying to leave the city near dark!"

Fenris threw his hood on sheepishly, wondering what had happened to his usual caution. Too much comfort in safety, he supposed. Perhaps it wasn't a bad thing.

Seri dropped her voice even lower.

"Taralin's going to be here in a few moments with the horses and the cart. You're going to put that thing," she gestures to his sword, "in the cart so we stay just a little inconspicuous."

"Where are we going?" Fenris whispered. "Should I be prepared for a fight?"

"You'll see. And possibly, but I wouldn't worry too much."

Taralin arrived as promised with three horses and a cart hitched to a donkey, filled with several barrels and leather cases.

In response to Fenris' quizzical look, he smiled. "Arms and armour. For our comrades across the border."

Seri explained once they were out of sight of the city that they were making a drop at a hidden site in the Silent Plains for use by the Agents, but both she and Taralin were tight-lipped about the details of what they would be used for, though Fenris suspected the purpose was along the lines of what Aron had described to him. They arrived shortly after midnight, a wickedly cold wind whipping sand to the west and straight into Fenris' eyes. Seri grabbed the reins of their horses as they dismounted and tied them to a nearby post that was topped with a marker that pointed north: Tevinter, 0.5 miles. Suddenly, Fenris felt a chill set into his muscles, and he was certain it wasn't just because of the weather.

"We go the rest by foot," Taralin yelled over the wind, and grabbed one arm of the cart he had just unhitched from the donkey. Fenris ran over to grab the other, while Seri scouted ahead – though this border crossing was not popular and therefore not as well-guarded, they still needed to be alert. As they dragged the wagon as quickly as possible away from the road and deeper into the Silent Plains, Fenris couldn't help but absentmindedly count his paces. Each step brought him closer to the place he had thought his feet would never grace again.

So, he counted, each pull of the wagon adding to his deep sense of dread, every push of his booted foot against the densely packed sand making his heart beat that much faster. Seri's shout from up ahead stopped him dead in his tracks, when it came.

"Boundary stone's up here," she cried, her dark shape obscured by swirls of sand floating in the air.

Taralin looked carefully at him, even through the gale, nodding towards Fenris' stopped feet.

"You alright?" he asked.

Fenris nodded mutely and willed his legs to start moving again.

They reached the border stone and just like that, on Seri's signal, crossed into Tevinter. Fenris half-expected the Imperial guard to appear and arrest him as soon as his feet touched Imperial ground. They still could, he supposed, for their decidedly illegal current actions, but no heir of House Danarius appeared in the moonlight once Fenris, escaped slave, returned. In fact, something in his center pushed his chin up, and set a ghost of a smile on his face – not only was Fenris, the free man, back in Tevinter, but he was not afraid.

He even remarked on the underwhelming nature of his homecoming to Taralin once they had been following for several minutes the trail of markers that Seri insisted were there, but that Fenris could not see. The wind, miraculously, had died down enough to carry on a conversation at a normal volume.

"So you are from Tevinter? That explains your taste for wine."

"Don't be stupid, Taralin," Seri called from ahead, beating Fenris to it. "He's an elf from Tevinter. Use your brain for once."

"Ah," said Taralin, and they carried on in silence for a few moments once again. "Not a pleasant homecoming, then."

"No," he replied. "Though better than expected."

To that, Taralin gave a single bark of laughter, interrupted by Seri's cry up ahead. They quickened their pace and wheeled the cart up next to her.

"Here," she said, and nudged a sand-polished stone, the size of her palm, with the toe of her boot. The stone seemed nondescript, but the more Fenris looked at it, the more he realized it could not have been carved naturally by the elements. The symmetry of the six almond-shaped indentations, three on each side of the midline, could not have been accidental. Seri looked at Taralin.

"Come on, you could use the practice. Step back, Fenris."

He did as he was bid, and Taralin knelt on the ground next to the stone. Pressing his palm to it, he whispered something Fenris couldn't hear, and twisted the stone sideways. Nothing happened. The three of them stood for a moment. Fenris wasn't sure what they were waiting for.

"Did you turn it all the way?" asked Seri impatiently, and Taralin shot her a glare.

"Well, if you did, it should have worked."

"I'll try again," Taralin snapped, and repeated the motion. This time, once he rotated the stone, there was a slight tremor in the ground.

"Finally," Seri said, and went around to the back of the cart.

Fenris watched, enraptured, as the sand sank down around the stone, forming a spiral staircase leading downwards, with the stone at its center. He realized Taralin and Seri were both staring at him, and he glanced down at his hands, where sparks of blue light traveled up and down his markings, glowing ethereally in the moonlight. They lit up the same way whenever he activated the portal to the compound. His markings had always reacted to magic, but this was different, somehow – there was no fire to the sparks, just a mild tingling sensation.

"Cool," said Taralin, at the same time as Seri rolled her eyes and said, "Come on."

Together, they hoisted one of the large hides that contained a dozen or so weapons out of the wagon as Taralin stood watch, an arrow nocked on his bowstring. Seri went first down the stairs and whispered for Fenris to watch his head once she reached the bottom. It opened up into a small chamber with walls of sandstone and wooden beams in the ceiling. The space resembled a decently-sized castle's larder, and as such, there was a crate or two of various foodstuffs. The vast majority of the space, however, was taken up by hides such as the one he and Seri were holding and baskets of shields and armour.

They dropped the hide at the bottom of the stairs, and Fenris realized Seri was checking a little notebook on top of one of the crates. She muttered something under her breath with a furrowed brow, and shut the book, turning back to him.

"Let's put it with the rest of them," she said, with a hint of irritation. Once they had finished, Fenris looked back on the room as she wiped her gloved hands on her breeches.

"There must be arms and armour enough here to outfit two, three thousand people," he commented, watching her closely.

She waved her hand dismissively. "Arms, yes. Armour, not so much. It takes a lot of space and it's heavy. You saw how little we could take on this one trip. And every time we go, it's risky. It's only a matter of time until the patrols catch our scent, even as careful as we're being."

He followed her as she scaled the steps quickly back up. She peeked out from the top of the staircase carefully, only moving when Taralin gave the signal.

"There's no good way to move this quantity of gear across Thedas, not if you want to keep it secret. And for the Agents' purposes…"

Taralin finished for her. "…these just need to appear. In the right place, at the right time."

Fenris decided to bite, though he knew he was unlikely to get an answer. "And the right place and right time are…?"

Seri snorted. "If you don't already know, we can hardly tell you."

Fenris simply shrugged. He knew how to be patient. They finished the work in silence, carrying the rest of the weapon bundles as well as a basket of armour down to the hidden sandstone room. On their last trip down, after they had deposited the armour basket, Fenris ran his hands across the smooth stone of one of the walls.

"It's amazing," he said. "Is this Elvhen magic?"

"More likely a couple of slaves and some pickaxes," she replied flippantly as she wrote in the little book. Fenris frowned, and she looked up when he did not answer, a little regret in her gaze. "Sorry. That was…" She trailed off as a blush coloured her cheeks. "I just meant… I don't know. The entrance was enchanted by one of our mages. Beyond that, I don't know how they found it. I just know that it's old."

Fenris could sense more than see the structure's age. It felt as if it had been here for millennia and would linger for millennia after he had turned to dust.

"A useful place," he remarked. It wasn't cold down here, either, despite the wind's chill. Seri finished her writing and gave Fenris a softer look than he was used to, from her.

"Aron likes you," she said quietly. "I know what it's like, being in the dark, but he'll tell you what this is all for soon enough."

Fenris nodded and found that he believed her. She disappeared up the steps. As soon as her heels whipped out of view, he dashed over to the notebook. Seri had terrible writing, but what he could read of her notes just indicated the number of weapons they had dropped off, the weather conditions, the absence of patrols and their crossing point. The agent who had written in the book before, however, had left a more extensive report, in much neater handwriting.

Wind blowing from the southeast, it began. Fenris skipped a line or two of description of the weather. Expect delays on pickups. No doubt this was what Seri had been frowning at. Inquisition update: not unlocked yet.

Fenris raised his brows and filed the cryptic note away for later as he scaled the steps back up to the opening. What could it mean? What in the Inqusition wasn't unlocked? He was interrupted from his musing, however, by a hiss from Seri as she spotted him coming up the stairs.

"Fenris! Get out of there but stay low!"

She was laying facedown beside the opening, belly on the sand, as was Taralin next to her.

"Patrol up ahead," he said, nodding forward. Fenris dropped down on his stomach and crawled out of the hole, looking in the direction the other elf had indicated. True enough, there were lanterns some distance away. As soon as Fenris got away from the entrance, Seri reached to turn the stone in the middle and whispered an incantation. The stairs filled with sand almost instantaneously, and she looked up at Fenris, eyes blazing.

"We have to move the wagon, or it's all over," she whispered frantically. "I'll cover our tracks."

She pushed herself to all fours but stayed low, grabbing a bundle of stiff grass from the back of the wagon that Fenris hadn't realized was for this very purpose. Nodding at them to get up, she started brushing away the tracks they had left, focusing on the tell-tale set of wagon wheels.

"Follow the trail we left on the way in," Taralin whispered to Fenris as they grabbed the two arms of the wagon. "And go quick."

They were lucky that the wagon trail did not lead directly towards the patrol in the distance, and that the wagon had been much lightened. They moved as quickly as possible while still staying low to the ground, Seri following close behind, walking with her back to them and brushing away their trail with every step. At one point, their old tracks drew so close to the patrol that they could hear voices, and all three of them froze. Seri and Taralin had an entire wordless argument that Fenris was not privy to, but in the end, it seemed Seri won out, and they continued on their old tracks, Fenris with his heart beating wildly in his throat the whole time. He praised the Maker that the patrol seemed to have their backs to them while they were running by.

When they passed the boundary marker, he was almost ready to kiss it, but a glance from Seri told him their flight was not yet finished. Silently, they continued running, until the sweat on Fenris' back had cooled uncomfortably from the wind and he was shivering once again.

Finally, they reached the horses, and Seri looked just about ready to kiss the donkey herself. She hastily hitched it to the wagon and urged it onwards while mounting her own horse. Behind her, Fenris and Taralin got on their own horses, and with a kick, sped back off into the wind.