Chapter 3: Fleeting Freedom

Anders had awoken abruptly, his head ached and eyes were blurred with the sleep that lingered in his amber hues. His mouth was also unbelievably dry and he had been sweating profoundly in his restless sleep. He had an immediate memory of the horrid nightmare that plagued him nightly now, ever since his Joining of the grey wardens. Not to mention the constant stomach pains that accompanied nightmare-filled sleep. Oh and the whole being tainted forever thing was something to also think about.

"Andrastes' tits, this was not in the brochure…" Anders muttered sourly as his stomach complained loudly, echoing around his room in Vigil's Keep.

The mage grumbled silent curses as he brushed his hair away from his face as he rose from bed and with deft fingers he pulled his dirty-blonde hair back with a hair-tie. A midnight snack was in order, or he would surely perish before the night gave out.

"Mew?"

Anders paused near the doorframe and gave a sideways glance and smile towards the small orange tabby cat that stretched itself out before plopping down to the ground from the bed and padded up behind him in a loyal fashion. Without much thought he knelt down and scooped the kitten up into his arms and cuddled the soft creature against his chest as he left his room and headed in the direction of the kitchens for snacks.

"Mph, you're getting heaver Ser Pounce."

"Meow!"

Anders could only chuckle lightly at the small conversation between the two of them as he neared the kitchens and paused to find someone silhouetted against the kitchens' fireplace. It was the shambling corpse of poor ole Kristoff.

"Andraste's knicker-weasels, Justice! You scared me, what are you doing here?"

"I do not require sleep as you humans do." Justice stated in a matter-of-fact sort of way. The fade spirit glanced in his direction and greatly unnerved Anders as his shoulders tensed a moment before the mage sighed heavily and plopped Ser Pounce-A-Lot onto the nearby wooden countertop.

"It can't be sanitary to have you in the kitchens…" He murmured to himself as he moved to fetch a small saucer and fresh cream for his cat. As much as he was intrigued by the fade spirit known as Justice, he still couldn't get past the whole possessing a corpse. Not to mention the stench that came with it, not that it hampered his hunger any.

"Have you thought more of your brethrens plight?" The spirit inquired from his spot near the kitchens' fireplace. The line of questioning caused Anders to pause a moment as he laid the saucer of cream in front of the orange tabby, which mewed in delight before partaking. Nimble fingers stroked the soft fur as he regarded Justice a moment before he shrugged and went to the pantry to fetch himself a snack.

In all honesty, he hadn't really cared about the mages' quandary. Sure he had first hand witnessed and received the wraith of the templars, but to actively rebel and fight for their freedom? That just seemed like a recipe for disaster. Besides, he was a grey warden now! He was free from the circle and the templars without fear. Except for the plaguing nightmares. Oh and for horribly grotesque brood-mothers and talking darkspawn.

"Why worry when I have a pretty girl here, decent meals, and have plenty of opportunity to throw lightning at our enemies?" Anders joked lightly, referring to a previous conversation he held with Warden-Commander Amell. Who would have thought that little Solona would grow from being such a book-wormish and awkward girl into the strong-willed and daring woman she was now? Yes, he was quite content with where he was.

As long as they have your phylactery, are you really safe from them?

It had been a lingering thought that often beleaguered the back of his mind as of late. Anders could not help but wonder what would stop the Chantry from suddenly announcing that all grey warden mages were also apostates and to be taken back to the circle. He had even voiced this concern once to Solona, who in turn comforted him and promised, nothing like that would ever happen.

"So the mage is speaking in secret with the demon? How suspicious." A voice spat out from the entrance of the kitchens that caused Anders to yelp out in surprise. Justice merely glanced in the direction of the voice with what could only be a look of outrage.

"I am NO demon!"

"Of course not."

The owner of the voice was that of Rolan. He was a former templar that had joined the grey wardens nearing three-weeks prior. If Anders hadn't known better he could have sworn that Rolan was sticking abnormally close to him and Justice. It was a definite red flag for the mage and was sure to stay on his guard around the new recruit.

"Oh yes, you've caught us. We were doing terrible sneaky-things involving apple pie." Anders scoffed lightly as his fork speared a piece of the tasty slice of confection he had fetched for himself out of the pantry earlier.

Rolan did not seem all that impressed with this reasoning as he scowled all the more, making him even less pleasant to look at. Really it was not all that hard as he hadn't been much of a looker to begin with.

"Honestly, all your eavesdropping is starting to make me think you've got a little crush on me." Anders continued with a wicked smirk gracing his tender lips. A waggle of his brows were added for effect and earned yet another irritated noise emitted from Rolan.

"Shut your mouth, mage!"

"Oh, don't be shy… I know how charming I can be. It's okay."

Rolan's face of what was a mixture of annoyance, vehemence, and a color that resembled that ofbaboon's bare arse. There was a sharp intake of air before it was released into an intense hiss from between the man's lips. It looked as if he were ready to attack the mage, but instead turned away from the duo in the kitchens.

"I'll leave you to your newest pet, demon." Rolan snapped harshly before he made a raucous withdraw from the kitchens and what appeared to be the direction of his sleeping quarters.

Anders could only snort loudly before stuffing his mouth full of baked apple and flaky crust. Justice on the other hand still looked to be seething from the demon comment. "That man is not worthy of the grey wardens. I am no demon." The fade spirit reconfirmed.

"It's okay Justice. I know you're not a demon. You are my friend."

The jungles of Seheron were among the beautiful sights that Fenris had ever laid his eyes upon. Not in all his years as Danarius' slave could he had imagined feeling so free and actually enjoy it. Without his master—former master—to lord over him he had grown more aware of his own feelings. No longer was he the cowed slave, but a man who could stand on his own. He was a man who had a life to choose whatever he wished to do with!

Thanks to his Fog Warrior brothers in arms.

They had actually bothered with saving his broken body from the wrecked shoreline that Danarius and his lackeys had fled to escape the Qunari attack. Whatever it was that Danarius was seeking had not been found and it resulted in him losing a very valuable investment in Fenris. The former-slave could not help but feel a bit of pleasure in that thought, which also seemed so impossible for him to feel.

The independent fighters of this island had really opened his eyes wide to the world. The warriors had taught him the wrongs of slavery and the evils of the Tevinter blood mages and magisters. Was it not a basic Chantry teaching that magic was a sin in the eyes of the maker? Then how was it that they had such a hold of power in Tevinter? It was an outrage! Give the mages an inch and they will greedily and forcefully take more.

"Fenris, you're looking much better my friend." A human warrior spoke as they trampled through the northern jungles of Seheron. He was a tall man of a muscular build, dark brown mop of hair, stubble, and piercing blue eyes.

"Yes," Fenris conceded as he flexed his right arm slightly, "most of my injuries have fully recovered. You have my thanks." The elf tilted his face a moment in regard to the human warrior, named Haydn. There was a question on his lips, but he seemed to hesitate in verbalizing it a moment. This caught the man's attention as they both stopped on the pathway back to base, their scavenging of fresh kill strapped to their belts.

"What is it?"

"…Why did you bother with saving a slave?"

The man seemed to be taken aback from the question before he chuckled softly with a shake of his head in response. After all these months he was surprised by how reluctant Fenris was in accepting the help that had been offered to him. He had seen it plenty of times with the other slaves that wound up on Seheron due to the fights for control over the land.

"Like we have told you, you are not a slave. No man deserves such a fate to mages." Haydn exclaimed heartedly towards the elf as he indicated that they continue to move. "Come now, let us go home and share our winnings from today's excursion." The warrior chuckled loudly as he patted the brown leather pouch on his belt and continued to schlep through the jungle's thick underbrush.

Fenris stood there a moment with a contemplative look on his face, but it soon turned into a soft grin—which disappeared as quickly as it came. Clearing his mind of worrisome thoughts Fenris took a deep breath, inhaling the wild scent of spice of the jungle, and exhaled slowly before he followed after his companion and new brother in arms.

Home. He had found a home to call his own.

There was blood. Maker, there was so much blood!

Anders had found himself sprawled out on the ground and covered in the crimson liquid. All around him the disembodied corpses of dead wardens laid. They looked as if their very being had been torn apart by some incredible force. The look of bewilderment crossed his features as the mage scrambled to his feet and looked around him for survivors.

They need not your healing.

"W-what…?" Anders whimpered out as he looked around him to find the source of the voice, only to find that he was very alone in the Wending Wood. When had he even gotten there? What had he been doing before this entire mess?

We must move on—the mages' plight demands justice.

"J-justice…?" He mumbled in confusion and clutched his head between his nimble hands. It was then that it all came flooding back to the spirit healer. He had accepted Justice into him, a willing host. The two of them had talked about it for the last few months. It seemed the right thing to do. Kristoff's widow would have his body back to properly bury and Justice would have a friend he could take refuge within. But how had things gone so horribly wrong!?

Distressed filled eyes looked around him quizzically until he recognized the many faces among the dead. Rolan was among them. That was right. That bastard Rolan had cornered him after Justice and he had merged together in the woods. He had hoped to do the matter discreetly, but they were being watched. Rolan and his group came out and shouted they were working under the Divine's rule—called him an abomination that needed to be killed.

"No—they were wardens. This…this wasn't right!" Anders spoke aloud as horror feigned in his voice.

They will die! I will have every last templar for their abuses! Every one of them will feel Justice's burn, together.

With so much blood upon his hands, warden blood, there would be no way for Anders to return to the Warden-Commander. He would have to run away once again.

How could he have done this?

Fenris was standing upon a small battlefield of corpses. The bodies of the Fog Warriors were all around him and he had caused their demise. The men and women who had taken him in and defended him against Danarius, were all dead.

His body burned with the faint glow of the lyrium brands upon his skin as his heart raced and pounded against his chest. It hurt. The throbbing in his chest was unbearable. How could he had done such a thing and for Danarius of all people? The man he hated more than anything in this world?

Sharp green eyes gazed over the battlefield and spotted his master immediately. He was still alive. How had he found him? It mattered not at this point. For a moment Fenris stepped closer to his master, but stopped in mid-stride. What was he going to do? Return to being the cowed slave? No, never!

Dark brows scrunched together and wrinkled his forehead as the Tevinter slave scowled angrily in the direction of his barely conscious master. He could easily kill the man right then and there. But a part of him feared if he went to close he'd lose what little freedom he had gained.

"Fasta vass!" He hissed angrily as he took this time to escape from the silent battlefield and swear on the dead warriors lives he had taken that Danarius would pay for his indiscretions.