"If you want him, he's yours."
"I thought I was the only one thinking that."
The words echoed in Fenris' head as Danerius' procession wound its way westward on a tiny road through the Planasene forest. As tensions had heated between the mages and the templars, so too had their own relationship become strained. But they had saved each other's lives, and no matter what the abomination might have thought of him, Fenris had still trusted Hawke.
Yet when Danerius showed up on their doorstep, Hawke had handed him over without hesitation while that abomination watched smugly. Fenris had been too stunned to resist, not that resisting would have gotten him very far. He couldn't fight both Danerius and Hawke at the same time.
Fighting Danerius alone was much more possible, although the mage kept a careful guard up at all times. Fenris had almost immediately been shackled with a pair of silvery bracelets that suppressed his lyrium abilities, and despite their fragile appearance Fenris had not been able to break them. They undoubtedly were of a magical nature.
As if that were not enough, Danerius had also set up a rotating watch of his apprentices to keep an eye on Fenris. Although they were weak compared to Danerius himself, no mage became apprentice to a magister without an aptitude for blood magic and a willingness to use it.
Danerius clearly did not trust his pet anymore, and would likely not trust him again until they reached Tevinter and his memories were stolen once more. That was the fate Fenris had to look forward to if he did not find an opening before they reached their destination.
But then, as if summoned by his thoughts, two arrows sprouted from Danerius' chest. The mage stumbled backwards a step before regaining his composure. Guards drew their weapons and began shouting to one another, forming up and readying for an attack.
The apprentice nearest Fenris exchanged a look with Danerius. When the magister nodded, the apprentice lightly traced a finger over Fenris' bracelet. Energy sparked along its surface and the silver pieces came apart.
Fenris stared at his bare wrists as the silver tumbled harmlessly to the ground. For a moment he tried to process what was happening, why he was being set loose, but a voice cut through his thoughts.
"Fenris, to me," Danerius commanded.
Of course. How could he defend his master if his hands were bound?
Obediently, Fenris followed Danerius as the magister climbed into the safety of his painted wagon and closed the wooden door behind him.
"Help me with these, my pet," Danerius said, this time more softly. Blood was already beginning to soak through the magister's robes, but the arrows were not too deep. Fenris reached out, lyrium bursting to life along his markings, and gingerly took the first arrowhead in his fingers.
Danerius hissed in pain, but did not flinch again while Fenris carefully worked the arrow out of Danerius's flesh. It was slow work, trying to minimize the tissue damage, but Fenris had a steady hand and in less than a half hour both arrows had been removed. As soon as they were out, light swirled around Danerius and the wounds closed.
"Be a good wolf and stand guard until the coast is clear," the magister said, dismissing Fenris with a wave of his hand.
Fenris nodded and took his leave of the wagon. As he stepped down the stairs, a guard approached him and held out a greatsword hilt first.
Fenris accepted the weapon and sheathed it. It felt good to be armed again.
After the first couple of hours passed without further incident, things began to calm down. The guards had scouted the area around the temporary encampment, but they found nothing and seemed content to write off the attack as a Dalish warning. They would be moving away from Dalish frequented areas soon, so hopefully that would be the end of any trouble with the wild elves.
Apprentice mages came and went from Danerius' wagon throughout the day, but the magister himself stayed securely inside.
That night Fenris continued to stand watch outside Danerius' wagon. The magister wanted to keep his most powerful sword between himself and any threat that might linger. That meant Fenris would be back to old habits, sleeping on his feet.
"Don't be alarmed," a soft voice came from beneath Danerius' wagon. Fenris snapped open his eyes. When had he closed them? His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his blade, but otherwise he did not move.
"I don't mean you any harm," the voice said. It was a woman's voice, an elf. It sounded vaguely familiar, but it was too soft to make out clearly. Even his elven ears strained to hear her. "How many here are slaves?"
"None," Fenris replied. He had been a slave once, but he was a free elf now. A free elf in service of a powerful magister, whom he intended to keep safe.
The voice seemed to be coming from behind the wagon wheel where the speaker could not easily be reached in one motion. He needed to get around to the side a bit before he could strike, but doing so now would only spook the intruder. He needed to either draw her out or gain some measure of trust, both of which meant keeping her talking.
"Are you alone?" he asked. He did not expect an answer, but if this elf did know him, then perhaps she would give him one.
"Unfortunately, yes," the voice answered. A lone assassin then, Fenris concluded. One that he probably knew, who might go out of her way to avoid harming him. That was good. They could use that.
"Are any of the others mages as well?" the assassin asked in turn.
"The attendants are apprentice mages. The guards are not, though they are all willing servants," Fenris answered. This time only silence followed, and when he knelt to peer under the wagon, the ground there was empty. This had been a message, of course: the assassin was still here and she could come at them any time she wished.
Fenris frowned and stood up. He needed to report this to Danerius.
For five days Fenris guarded the door of Danerius' wagon. They had resumed their northward march, and a sense of urgency was building in the ranks. The assassin had not made another direct appearance, but people had begun to go missing. Scout too far ahead or trail too far behind and you were not likely to be seen again.
Danerius was convinced it was the pirate woman from Kirkwall. She alone had seemed upset when Fenris had been retrieved, and a raid on a caravan seemed in character for a pirate. The voice hadn't sounded like Isabella, but then, she may have been trying to avoid recognition as well.
If it was her, then she would most likely be alone, as he had informed Danerius. Isabella had had no crew for some time. A tightening of their security, keeping guards in groups of three and the apprentice mages near the wagon, should be enough to put a damper on the pirate's little game.
It should have been that simple, but unrest was still growing. Word had spread among the apprentices that Danerius was in trouble. The arrows he had taken must have been poisoned, and no magic would touch the slowly spreading malaise. Despite their high levels of learning, none of the mages could even identify the poison that had been used. Danerius' only hope now was to reach Tevinter and see if any of his connections knew more. Or failing that, if an answer could be found in the archives there.
The mages had even tried using blood magic to purge the poison from Danerius, but after two guards were killed to no effect they had abandoned the idea. Only one thing seemed to do any good. The progression of the poison could be slowed by slowing Danerius' blood itself. Now he remained in a self-inflicted half-conscious state with an apprentice attending him at all hours.
As for Fenris, when he did sleep it was securely inside the wagon with his back pressing the door closed, but he did not sleep much. Most of his time was spent standing at attention outside the wagon door, ready and waiting for the assassin to come to him. He would not let her get away if she showed herself again, and she must have known it. She did not come.
After the seventh day, the assassin's whittling down of their numbers became more aggressive, until even walking beside the wagon was not safe. A single arrow, well placed, dropped another apprentice. The assassin did not show her face.
It drove the remaining guards near mad, and in their desperation they foolishly tried one last flush of the surrounding woods. There were not enough of them remaining and while the trees at the roadside were relatively thin, the Planascene was a thick forest. If they entered the shadowy brush they would surely be separated, but they would not listen to Fenris. They never returned.
It was the twelfth day when Danerius' final apprentice was slain driving the horses. With no one left to navigate or tend the the horses -Fenris was ill equipped for either task- they stopped moving northward.
It was in the pre-dawn gloom of the thirteenth day when the assassin finally showed her face, a slim elven shape parting from the darkness. It had not been Isabella afterall.
"It is over, Danerius!" she called past Fenris. She did not come close enough for him to strike, but Fenris drew his sword nonetheless and took a few steps towards her. He had not had proper rest in far too many days and was more tired than he cared to admit, but he was still more than ready to put up a fight.
"I would not say it is done just yet," Danerius' muffled voice replied from inside the wagon. With no more apprentices to monitor him and the assassin here at last, he would not be able to keep his blood slowed. He would have to let the poison do its work at its own pace until Fenris could settle things again.
"The poison continues to eat you, and you have no lives left to steal," the assassin said. It was true, unfortunately. Danerius could not consume Fenris' life so long as the assassin threatened. Without his wolf he would be naked and exposed.
"Then let us be done with you, so that I might move on," Danerius replied casually. "Fenris?"
At his name, Fenris leapt into motion. He brought his blade in a slashing arc at the assassin, but it met only empty air.
"You don't have to do this," the assassin whispered, her breath at his ear. He struck backwards with the pommel of his sword. There was enough force to shatter a breastbone, but the assassin flowed around the blow like a reed on the wind. She spun and opened up some distance between them.
Fenris touched his throat uneasily where her two fingers had brushed his skin. He hadn't even seen the motion, but the memory of the touch lingered in his flesh. It was a warning: she could have killed him if she had wanted to. She had not, and that was a mistake Fenris would make her regret. He would not be so shy about finishing the deed.
Fenris leapt forward again. The assassin was drawing him away from the wagon now, entering the trees that lined the roadside. He couldn't let himself be drawn into the thicker trees where his greatsword would be useless, but at the same time, he was thankful for any distance he could put between the assassin and his master.
He changed to faster motions, committing less to each attack so that he could alter his momentum more easily. Once, twice, three more times his blade found empty air as the sinuous assassin danced circles around it. He silently cursed the fatigue he had tried to ignore.
If the battle continued at this pace he would only wear himself out further. He knew what he needed to do.
Fenris willed forth the pain that sparked through his lyrium, and then he feinted right with his blade. But this time as the assassin spun around his weapon, his left hand was waiting.
Her breath caught, as it always did when Fenris plunged his hand into someone's chest. He lifted her off the ground; the ethereal blue wisps that issued from his lyrium wafted upwards to caress a face that tickled Fenris' memory. She was surprised, but with no sign of the fear or panic that Fenris was used to in his foes.
She did not claw at the arm that held her aloft. Instead, she put away her daggers with the care of someone leaving on a long journey. There was relief on her face before she closed her eyes, embracing death.
Fenris closed his fingers around that beating lump of flesh. For all the trouble she had caused, he had wanted to see her suffer, wanted to see her desperate and pleading. But though her pulse quickened, it remained steady. Her heart did not flutter and falter. Being denied her misery brought a snarl to his lips.
But as he began to squeeze, something snaked past his fingers, like a ribbon of ghost that froze his blood. Soon after another followed it, in time with the beating of her heart. It was as though her veins were living things, clawing at him.
Horrified, Fenris threw the assassin to the ground and clutched at his hand. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but he could still feel the traces her veins had left. He could almost imagine them growing, slowly lacing up his arm as if to consume him.
"Finish her!" Danerius demanded. His voice was no longer muffled; he had left the safety of his wagon and was coming up behind Fenris. "I said finish her!"
It was like a veil had been torn from Fenris' eyes.
He gloried in the searing pain of the lyrium for one lingering moment. Its fire chased away the unnatural ice from his skin as he listened to Danerius approach. Then he spun on his heel and in one decisive motion he ripped the heart from Danerius' chest.
Just like that, it was over.
Staring at that pitiful flesh in his bloody hand, the reality of the past two weeks crashed over Fenris. He sank to his knees beside the corpse of the magister as a hundred questions reeled through his mind.
Why had he given up so easily? Why had he defended Danerius, wanted to defend him?
But he already knew the answer. Blood magic. It had to be.
While under the effects of its compulsion, every action felt like your own. Only in looking back was it obvious that nothing could have been further from the truth. It made him wonder how many other times Danerius had done this. How many times had meek subservience been the result of blood magic rather than his own weakness? How many times had he cursed himself for actions that might not have been his own afterall? How could he even know? He'd never had a will of his own to contradict before; he'd just been a vessel for his master's commands.
"That's an impressive trick you've got there," the assassin said, drawing Fenris out of his spiraling thoughts. She was lying in the dirt and rubbing her chest. "I think I would like to feel it again one day."
That was not what Fenris had expected to hear, and he dropped Danerius' heart. It made a pitiful "whump" as it hit the loose dirt.
"Are you insane?" Fenris muttered. The past two weeks would make a lot more sense if she were.
"I've been worrying about my Calling a lot more lately," the assassin explained, as if that somehow made things any clearer. But it did remind Fenris of where he knew her from. She was the Gray Warden he had met outside of Kirkwall all those years ago, the one who had offered to help him kill Danerius.
A pang of guilt stabbed at him. She had come here to do just that. In fact, she had done just that, and he had nearly killed her for it.
"I think I've probably got seven years left at most," she went on matter-of-factly, either oblivious to or intentionally ignoring Fenris's sudden anguish. "It comes faster for those of us who have actually fought darkspawn. But that's not what worries me. What bothers me is what I will do when the time comes."
"I thought all Wardens went to the Deep Roads to die in battle against Darkspawn," Fenris said, letting her draw him away from his guilt. There were many unknowns about the Gray Wardens, but he knew what a Calling was. Tevinter was no stranger to Gray Wardens, afterall. The Wardens had no qualms about blood magic, and the first blight had begun in Tevinter. The first Wardens had even been Tevinter soldiers.
"That is customary," the Warden agreed. "But when I was last in the Deep Roads... I saw things, learned things about the Darkspawn. A man may enter the Deep Roads, blade drawn, and have the certainty of death ahead of him. But a woman? Those they don't always kill."
Fenris detected a faint tremble in her voice.
"No one knows the whole story of where the original Darkspawn came from, but I know where new Darkspawn come from. And while my fellow Wardens assure me that our protections would prevent something like that from befalling a Gray Warden, I just can't shake the question. What if they're wrong?"
A shiver went up Fenris' spine. That was one Gray Warden secret he would have rather not known.
"I am not an easy one to kill," the Warden continued. "If I'm above ground when the madness comes for me, there's no telling the amount of damage I could do. And for all his playing at guild master of the Antivan Crows, Zevran taught me everything he knows. I don't think he could take me anymore.
"Its comforting, though," she went on, "to think of having someone around who could kill me if they had to."
"You've risked your life for my freedom," Fenris said. "The least I can do is make sure yours ends while you still have your own."
"So quick to bind your new life to a promise?" the Warden asked.
"I..." Fenrs was not sure where he would go from here, or what he would do. He was free, yes. Truly free, for the first time in his life. But he had no home to return to. Those he had counted as his friends had abandoned him when he needed them most.
"Don't take that the wrong way," the Warden added. "I could use your sword arm."
"For the Crows?" Fenris wondered aloud. Repaying his debt to this elf seemed as good a place to start his new life as any, but he had no desire to give away his freedom to a guild of assassins. Thankfully, the Warden shook her head.
"I found Antiva just wasn't to my liking," she replied. "So when some strange communications between Kirkwall and Tevinter came to the Crows' attention, I took it as an opportunity to leave in a more permanent fashion."
"You were waiting for it!" Fenris was surprised, but certain he had hit the mark. It had been a long time since they had parted ways, a year even. Why did she even care?
"With bait like that, I knew the trap would close sooner or later." The Warden didn't try to deny it. "I wanted to see what would happen when it did."
"Now that you've seen it go down, what do you intend to do?" Fenris asked.
"I must say, I'm not good at anything but killing," she answered. "But, there are plenty of slavers along these coasts that need killing."
Fenris let himself fall back into the dirt. It felt good to lie down, and he stared up at the stars poking through the leaves above. They were fading and would soon make way for the dawn.
"I can think of worse things to do with my freedom than hunting slavers with a beautiful woman," he said, drifting into the arms of a much overdue sleep.
