A/N: Okay, okay, I said I wasn't going to cover parts of the game and/or quote their dialogue and now look at my hypocritical butt. Flashback to the night that Fenris and Hawke met, through his eyes this time.

Warnings: Absolutely nothing dirty. Your six-year-old could read this if they had a high enough reading comprehension level. Is that something to warn people about? Yes, it was cheap of me to suck you into the first chapter with hints of sexiness. No, I'm not sorry.

Another note: The word 'folgate' is real. I found it in an old dictionary (like 70s/80s era Webster's) in high school, but now apparently Webster's doesn't remember it. Folgate means 'to emit sparks of lightning.' It seemed appropriate for a lightning spell, and I just love the damn word. I'm a word-nerd, what can I say?

"I am not a slave!"

-Fenris

II.

As he withdrew his hand from the slaver's chest and turned, Fenris had a sensation of larger things shifting around him, as if the universe itself had taken a great breath and waited, poised, for his reaction. His eyes fell on the small group behind him, splattered with Hunters' blood and bruised from their encounter.

He recognized the guard's uniform on the red-haired woman as she lowered her shield to defend against him, heard the hairy-chested dwarf flick some catch on his crossbow, and smelled the faint twinge of sweat as the dark-haired young man reached for the claymore on his back. In spite of all of them, Fenris found himself staring at the young woman who seemed to lead the group as she raised one hand and her companions lowered their weapons. She dressed in a simple teal robe that would have been bright, had the piercing blue of her eyes not outshone the fabric.

For a moment, he was lost in her eyes, helpless, only able to perceive that impending change as he realized that she was the change.

"I apologize," he began, collecting his thoughts. He couldn't seem to stop staring at the woman, so he walked around her, to the body of the man he'd just killed. "When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the Hunters, I had no idea they'd be so… numerous."

"You were responsible for all this?" she asked him, brows rising to hide beneath the messy dark hair that fell into her eyes as one hand swept out to indicate the corpses littering the Alienage ground.

He shifted, uncomfortable. "I'm the reason you're here, yes," he answered. It felt as if the change loomed heavy overhead and he felt his heart quicken against his armor. "My name is Fenris," he pressed on, explaining the Imperial bounty hunters before he realized how dangerous it was to share such information with a stranger. He cut himself off by saying, "Thankfully Anso chose wisely."

The sense of the universe shifting grew dizzying as he stared into her eyes. What was he thinking to say all of those things? To be polite, even flattering her prowess in battle?

"If they were trying to recapture you, then I'm happy I helped," she said.

Fenris felt his eyes widen. Who was this woman? "I have met few in my travels who have sought anything other than personal gain." He was unable to hold his tongue around her. What sort of power did she exercise over him? Without meaning to, his eyes swept to take in the curves her robe revealed, the straight nose and soft, unpainted lips.

She asked him questions about himself, about his master and his markings, and he answered her without a second thought. He couldn't resist asking her about the chest, wondering if it might contain something—some clue as to Danarius' power, or a weapon that might defeat him—but she told him it was empty. Before he knew it, he had asked her to help him charge into Danarius' mansion and she had agreed.

As he jogged through Lowtown's narrow streets, keeping to the shadows, he felt a giddy fluttering in his chest. In later years when he recalled that night, he would wonder if that was how normal men felt the first time a woman they fancied accepted an offer of a drink or a walk together. That night, however, Fenris assumed that it was bloodlust he felt. He focused on imagining the look of shock and pain in Danarius' eyes and the wet pop of the magister's heart in his hand. But for some reason, he kept picturing that woman's serious blue gaze.

Even as he led them into the mansion, filled with shades and demons that Danarius had summoned, Fenris felt her eyes against his back. He shoved any thought of her from his mind as he kicked open doors and slashed through spirits. As they reached the master suite, monsters materialized in every corner of the room. Fenris whirled to face them and saw, for one second, the expression on the young woman's face. Her blue eyes glowed with unholy light, her hands raised toward the ceiling, and he saw electricity arcing up the length of her arms, coiling around the wood of her staff.

"Folgate," she muttered, the word taking a vicious twist in her teeth. The pressure of the air changed, making his sensitive ears pop; Fenris heard the hum of power and felt the lyrium in his veins sing in the presence of powerful magic.

He vaulted the balcony and landed in a cluster of abominations, slashing his sword through several even as more hurried toward him. There was no way to kill them all, he was about to be overwhelmed before he could even find Danarius, and then lightning filled the room. Several of the spirits nearest him exploded in showers of blue-lit dust, their misty forms crackling with electricity.

"Face me," cried a strong, fearless voice with a heavy Fereldan accent. A shield with an emblem of the Viscount's Seal arced through the shades nearest him and Fenris glanced over to see the guardswoman, her feet braced, her long sword snapping out from behind the cover of her shield to slash the monsters as they turned toward her with their inhuman hunger. He spun his sword through one after another, finding his way through the crowd so that he stood back-to-back with the guard. From time to time he heard the high-pitched whine of a crossbow bolt, followed by the thunk-hiss of it hitting its mark.

The last of their little cluster of foes fell away and Fenris turned to look around the room, to see what other monsters might be waiting. A trio of shades in the far corner started toward him and he raised his blade, prepared to strike, when a blast of fire carved through them. He straightened as they dissipated, looking at the wreckage of the mansion, and felt a wave of despair crash over him.

Danarius was long gone.

The blue-eyed woman walked down the stairs, her robes sweeping against the steps, and he faced her for a moment. He didn't know what he muttered even as he said it—something about taking the treasure as payment and Danarius wasn't there—but he knew he needed to leave. Everything about the place screamed Danarius, from the heavy dark velvet of the drapes and the horrific paintings of torture and death. Even the smell, of blood and wine and orichalcum, was the smell of Tevinter to Fenris. The scent of his former master.

"I… need some air," he finished, turning and stalking outside with stiff steps. As he walked out, he glimpsed a reflection of the room behind him in a broken shard of glass. He saw the guard and the dwarf exchange glances behind their leader, who stood staring after him with her shaggy dark hair falling across her brilliant eyes.

The ghost of their reflections faded from his mind as he stepped outside, slumping against the wall and gulping in air. Danarius was gone. All the monstrous defenses the magister had erected were no more than a deadly ruse. Even from wherever he was, Danarius had his claws in deep. The lyrium hadn't just marked his skin: it had marked him, his mind and heart and even his soul. The only solution was to kill his former master. The only way he could ever be free was to find that bastard and crush his heart into a wet pulp. Fenris shuddered, folding his arms over his chest and leaning his head back against the ivy.

He heard the scrape of the heavy door being drawn open but didn't bother to look around just yet.

"—careful of this one, Hawke," he heard the alto murmur of the guardswoman and assumed they were speaking about him. He remained in place, waiting for them to round the corner of the walkway and spot him.

Now he heard the answering rumble of the dwarf's chuckle. "She's enthralled, can't you see?"

Fenris felt his frown soften as he stared at the moon, straining to hear any response from the blue-eyed leader, the woman they called Hawke. But none came. He waited for her to tell the dwarf to shove off, or the guard that she could take care of herself, but no response came. Enthralled. He mouthed the word and wondered if that was what her eyes had done to him.

A scuff of movement close by spurred him to look around. He found himself absorbed in the electric blue of her eyes, almost able to perceive the terrible power that resided just behind them.

"It never ends," he said in a flat voice, but the bitterness rose like bile in his chest, twisting his tone just as it twisted his lips into a sneer, "I find myself in the company of yet another mage."

Her eyes remained steady as he advanced forward a step. She stood her ground and, somewhere beneath his anger, he found himself impressed with her courage. But how could he trust her? After all he told her of his magister, she withheld such a vital piece of information about herself from him, waiting for him to figure it out for himself. "Tell me then: what matter of mage are you? What is it you seek?"

She studied his face for a moment with a serious expression. "I'm not seeking anything," she said. He noticed the way her teeth caught her lip as she fell silent and wondered what she wanted to say.

"Yet danger will undoubtedly find you," he warned her, stepping closer still. He could smell a soft embrium scent to her, like soap or a delicate perfume, and over it the damp, doggy odor of Mabari. She didn't have that haggard refugee look to her that other Fereldans had, but she had to be one. The only Marchers who kept dogs were the dog-fighting gangs in Lowtown.

"I imagine I appear ungrateful," he said, breathing the smell of her. It was… comfortable, so comfortable that it made him uncomfortable, and he wondered at the paradox. "If so, I apologize, for nothing could be further from the truth." He dug in the pouch on his belt for the last of his coins and shoved them into her hand. Where would he sleep tonight? Before he could stop, he had offered her his assistance, and it occurred to him that he stood in front of a mansion that he had just rid of all its dark magical influences. Fitting. That sense of change returned, stronger, crashing over his senses. It was as if he had leapt over a precipice with no idea what lay below and now found himself falling into that void. He realized that the change was happening, that it was now.

She pursed her lips and her companions watched her. Fenris realized that they were drawn to her as well. They followed her for their own reasons, different from his, but were drawn to her nonetheless. "You didn't seem all that thrilled with me a moment ago," she said, a touch of wry humor pervading the words.

"You are not Danarius," he answered, serious as he stared into the mage-glow of her gaze. "Whether you are anything like him remains to be seen." He saw a flicker in those eyes and his gut clenched. Perhaps he should not have said that last part, but… he couldn't forget. The moment he forgot how dangerous magic was, how terrible the power a mage commanded, he was as good as dead.

"I'm planning an expedition I might need help with," she answered, startling him. It seemed she would ignore the insult for now. Fenris felt relieved that she didn't press the issue about his hatred of magic, and confused at his relief.

"Fair enough," he countered. "Should you ever have need of me, I will be here. If Danarius wishes his mansion back, he is free to return and claim it. Beyond that, I am at your disposal." He didn't miss how the guardswoman's brows shot up at his comment about the mansion. But no one said anything. They all deferred to the blue-eyed mage, just as he found himself doing.

She looked him over and nodded once. "I must see my companions home," she said, "But I will come back to see if there is anything you need."

The dwarf snorted. "We're having a drink at the Hanged Man. Our whole big family likes to crowd my suite and sneak on my tab," he said. Fenris stared down at the man, studying him for the first time. He had no beard, but what he lacked in facial hair he made up for with a display of lush chest hair, thick as carpet, with a medallion nestled in the midst of it. The dwarf glanced at Hawke and then back at Fenris, broad features settling into a contented smirk. "You should join us."

Fenris looked toward Hawke for an answer, but she seemed occupied with some piece of invisible lint on her sleeve. After a second she looked up, pressing her lips together in an approximation of a smile that looked more like a wince. He realized that she must feel some anxiety about introducing her friends to a fugitive slave who hated mages and looked away.

"It wouldn't hurt to introduce you to everyone," she said after a moment. Her voice cut through the downward spiral of his thoughts and he looked back up, caught in her vivid eyes again. Something flickered in her gaze and he couldn't tell if it was magic or emotion. After all, the two were the same in a mage. This time she looked away. "But if you are too tired after—" One of her hands gestured toward the mansion, a wordless completion to her thoughts.

He hesitated, staring at her for a long moment.

"Screw this," said the dwarf, interrupting the moment. "I'm not waiting for you two to dance around a decision. There's warm ale and cold stew waiting for me in my suite."

Hawke smiled and Fenris thought he could hear a chuckle from the guardswoman behind him. He couldn't help a raspy laugh, surprised to hear a sound he seldom uttered.

"It sounds… appealing," Fenris answered, nodding once. The dwarf took off, trotting through the wide, cobbled streets of Hightown as fast as his stubby legs would carry him. The guardswoman picked up the pace without effort, long legs eating the ground. Fenris suspected she could walk as fast as the dwarf could run.

Hawke fell in step beside him and he glanced at her face, watching the shadows play across her pale skin. Under the gentle braziers that lit the streets and kept shadows and thieves at bay her features softened until she looked like some sort of goddess of the moon. Every fiber of his being cried out that she was the change, that it was Hawke. She was the force that was forever rerouting his life, changing him and the world around her without realizing. Fenris almost choked as he recognized how deep her beauty ran before he remembered how to breathe again. Though he had yet to experience her leadership, he thought, for just a moment, that he would follow this strange, lovely mage wherever she asked. He had no idea how right he was.