DESTINY

Eve was packing to leave. There was to be an Exalted Council in Orlais, to determine the future of the Inquisition. Although she'd retired from the office, a missive from Josephine had entreated her to attend the meeting.

Dorian should be going, but as Eve was attending, the two decided she would represent him. Dorian was sure she'd have better reception on his behalf than an actual Tevinter devil. In truth, neither wanted to leave Anders and Fenris alone for such a long period. Both men felt badly about it on one hand, and extremely grateful on the other. The idea of being left alone made them uncomfortable... actually, very anxious. Even so, one aspect concerned Anders.

"Dorian, Eve said The Iron Bull is going to be there. Why would you be willing to miss seeing him?"

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Did she, the little minx? As it happens, it's true, he'll be attending. However, I've hired the Chargers to escort her on her return. He'll come to me. The food and wine will be better, the bed more comfortable, and the time longer. Don't worry on my account, dear Anders. My love-life is well-managed, if sporadic."

Anders also pestered Eve about Cullen. "You've never said anything negative about him. Why are you no longer together?"

"We're not really 'no longer together', Anders. I just took a couple years out of the country. I needed time away."

"From the man you love?" He knew that he and Fenris were uncommonly connected, but the thought of deliberately separating from one's lover... it stymied him.

She sighed. "You are determined, aren't you? Cullen is a loving, faithful, considerate man. Too considerate. He began to worry that everything he said was potentially an insult toward mages. It was impossible to have a conversation. Then, too, he was so invested in the Inquisition. And, I just couldn't stay in the midst of it all at Skyhold, any longer."

"Did you tell him all of that?"

"Not really. How do you tell someone they're too considerate? Or, that their dream just doesn't appeal to you?"

"Like you just told me. It's not fair to either of you to be apart, if your love is true. Talk to him, Eve. Don't waste anymore time."

She looked at his earnest face, and smiled. "I'll try. And, talking about talking... Varric's going to be at the Council. Do you have any messages you'd like to send?"

"Why is he going to the Council?"

"He's the Viscount of Kirkwall."

Fenris burst into long, loud laughter. "Oh, that is just perfect!"

Anders squinted with a scowl. "No. I don't have any messages. Maybe the laughing elf does."

Fenris noticed his squint, and pulled the mage into his lap. He lightly rubbed his hand along Anders' back. "Does he know we're here?"

Eve shook her head. "I haven't informed anyone that you've been found, let alone your location. I thought you should have that option."

Fenris studied Anders' face. "No... I don't have a message. Eve, tell him whatever you like. I don't care what people know." He pulled Anders' scowling face down and into the crook of his shoulder. "Let it go, for now, my mage." Anders inhaled the elf. The hand on his back, and the scent of his skin, slowly brought him calm.

Eve watched their interaction, the love so obviously shared between them. "I really do miss Cullen," she said softly.

Fenris quirked his lips. "Anders gave good advice."

She shook herself of her reverie. "I don't leave for a few days. There's something I want to talk to you both about. But, only when Anders is in a better mood."

His voice spoke, muffled against Fenris' neck. "I'm in a better mood."

"Alright. I would like you to consider making a couple changes."

Now Anders raised his head. "To what?"

"You still look like a Matched Set."

They turned and studied each other. Needlessly, as both knew the other better than themselves. Fenris picked-up on her meaning, immediately. "You have a point."

"So?" Anders wasn't following.

Dorian had appeared in the doorway. "You need to look your station," he directed at Anders, "for both of you." He pointed a manicured finger at Anders. "Your position in society will determine his regard. He'll not be given respect, as a slave, but he will be seen as an extension of you. If you're well thought of, Fenris will receive better treatment."

"You're saying my hairstyle will affect our lives that much?" Anders asked incredulously.

Dorian chuckled. "It's not quite so shallow, but looks make the man, in noble society. You will be held to a certain standard."

Anders put his head back in Fenris' neck. "Maker, what am I getting into?"

"Freedom as a noble in Tevinter, where mages practice magic in the street, and their elf shares their bed and their love in safety," Fenris reminded him. "Your appearance was changed to model mine. You won't be a slave, anymore. You shouldn't look like one. Cut your hair, remove the tattoos. Shake off the last vestiges of your life under that bastard."

Anders spoke from his hiding place, again. "Then, I wouldn't look like you."

"It's up to you, Anders. It's your head and hide. But, I don't want you to look like me, anymore. I don't want you to be his legacy, any more than I wanted it." The elf rubbed Anders' back, again, one hand in the mop of gold on his head. "Whether or not you look like me, we're still part of each other. Nothing in this world can change that."

Anders raised his head to gaze into the elf's eyes. He sighed. "You're right, as usual. All of you are right. The hair, the markings." He held out his arms, covered in reddish lines and swirls. "I don't want to see them, anymore."

"You're going to be even more beautiful, my Anders," Fenris pulled him in for a brief, sweet kiss.

"Kaffas... the two of you." Dorian watched the pair with a bemused look.

Anders looked up. "The two of us, what?"

Dorian shook his head. "Most people only dream of what you have. It's just terribly romantic." His own voice had a slight longing in it.

"Dorian, you should go to the Council," Anders urged.

"Perish the thought! I detest such events. Bull will be here, in good time."

The afternoon found Anders in a chair, covered in a drape. Fenris hovered over the mage protectively, and watched with interest as the hairstylist circled him, judging his features and hair texture.

"I have no idea what I want," Anders said to Dorian. "I've never done much with my hair."

Dorian replied. "It's up to you, of course. But, it's much warmer here than in the South. Tevinter men tend to wear their hair short. Often partially shaved."

Anders looked at Fenris, who maintained a neutral expression. He looked back at Dorian. "You look good... but, your hair is a bit complicated for me."

Dorian laughed. "I quite agree. Something more natural, less fuss." He muttered with the stylist a moment, and they both nodded. Anders closed his eyes as locks of hair began falling past his face.

When the snipping was done, he opened his eyes to a mirror held before him. He grabbed it, and stared. "Andraste's knickerweasles, I look like King Alistair!"

"You've met the King of Ferelden?" Dorian asked.

"Once, in Amaranthine." He was still staring. He'd never had his hair so short. Yet, he liked it. He raised his eyes to Fenris, who was looking at him with a feral grin. Apparently, the elf liked it, too. He smiled back, pleased with his reaction.

"I saw him up close, once," Dorian offered. "You'll forgive my contentiousness when I say, you look better."

The stylist was shown to the House accounts keeper, and a servant came to sweep up the golden locks in the floor. Another man was ushered in.

"I understand you have extensive tattoos you would like removed," the man said gently.

The man was a mage. One who specialized in aesthetics. Anders found such a specialty interesting. Dorian explained that in land with so many mages practicing freely, many more uses for magic were explored than in the South. Not every mage was a highborn. Not everyone was interested in, or competent at, battle or healing.

The procedure was lengthy, as much as getting them inscribed on his body. Happily for Anders, it was also painless. The removal was accomplished via a sustained spell. The mage ran his fingers carefully along the lines of ink, reciting an incantation. The markings vanished behind his touch.

Anders was provided much more consideration in the removal than in the application. Only those parts of his body being worked on were exposed at any time. The constant touch of the aesthetician, however gentle and professional, was difficult to bear. Fenris touched him constantly; petting, rubbing, holding. Several times, Anders asked for a break. Dorian and the mage left the room, as Fenris took him in his arms to soothe him.

Hours later, Dorian showed the aesthetician out, and Anders looked down at his arms to see unblemished skin. He stripped off his servant's livery and ran to the mirror. It was as though he'd never had them. He twisted and turned, looking at every part of himself. Even his genitals... no remaining ink. Fenris appeared behind him, hands gliding down his shoulders and back, lighting on his hips.

"Glad?" he asked, chin resting on Anders' shoulder.

He smiled. "I am."

The elf nodded, burying his mouth in the mage's shoulder. "You look like you."

"I feel like me." He looked at Fenris. "He's gone."

Fenris nodded. "He is. He's out of our life. Soon, we'll make our own life."

Eve had left to assist the Inquisition. She sent regular messages to Dorian. They all missed her. She included a letter for Dorian from Bull, which put the Tevinter in a heightened state of anticipation.

Dorian was gone from the House many days of the week. He traveled to gatherings and political meetings. He met with ambassadors and Family Heads. He spent a great deal of time corresponding with the Magisterium, and his own father. He didn't see eye-to-eye with Halward, but they both tried to maintain a civil relationship, particularly in regard to politics. As an only child, Dorian was likely to inherit his father's seat in the Magisterium. He wasn't certain that his father would grant that, however.

Listening to Dorian discuss this, Anders realized he knew little about the position he was taking in the Pavus Family.

"So, am I going to be your brother, then?"

Dorian laughed. "Oh, I would have so enjoyed growing up with you as my brother! The mischief we'd have gotten into. No. Sibling designations are confined to blood. You will be an Inheritor. It would be proper to simply refer to yourself as 'Anders of House Pavus'. You could also say 'Anders Pavus', though that may lead to some confusion among Tevinters. Using the surname implies blood relation."

"Will I be a lord, or ser, or something?"

"Lord Pavus refers to my father or I. You will certainly merit 'my lord'. 'Messere' or 'serrah' are acceptable."

"I don't want Fenris to call me 'master', even for appearances."

"He can call you whatever the two of you like. Many slaves work in offices or shops, and refer to their owners as 'messere', or even their given names. It depends on the master in question. I understand that you've experienced the worst kind of master out there. But, most aren't like Danarius. You can play the role of any sort of master with which you're comfortable. Those still in slavery in my House typically call me 'messere', as do the free staff. None bow nor kneel."

Fenris looked up from oiling his sword. "I'll call you 'Lover-Mage'.

Anders grinned. "I'll call you 'Sweetheart'.

Dorian kept talking. "You'll also receive an allowance. I've set-up an account for you, and funds will be placed in it on an annual basis. Inheritors don't receive the same sort of numbers as children do, but you'll be well-provided for."

Anders' mouth was ajar. "You're kidding me. Your family's never even met me, and they're going to give me a living?"

"Of course. There are appearances to keep." He took in Anders' shocked face, and chuckled. "I don't think you fully appreciate the level of wealth you're being adopted into, Anders. You'll barely be a drop out of the coffers. Of course, you're both welcome to remain in my estate. No, let me rephrase that. Please, stay. Between you and Eve, I've not had such an accord since Felix."

Dorian continued working with Anders to refine his magic. He also taught him some interesting spells that no Circle in the south would teach. Anders was delighted with the freedom of magic here. Dorian cautioned him. Such freedom often resulted in terrible acts by feuding mages and power-hungry magisters. Fenris nodded. Anders had seen little outside of Danarius' and Dorian's estates. He didn't really know the lay of the culture.

The day Dorian walked into the house, grinning, and handed Anders the writ acknowledging him as a member of the family of House Pavus, Anders felt the world shift around him. He was free. He was a free mage. He was a member of a powerful family of Tevinter. He was expected to use magic, to walk openly as a mage. He had support, backing, security... he was going to hyperventilate.

Dorian and Fenris sat him down, brought him water, coached his breathing. When he could draw a calm breath, he looked at Fenris in awe. "I'm free. I'm a citizen of the Imperium... Fenris..." Fenris pulled him into an embrace, smiling over his shoulder at Dorian. He felt the newest member of the Imperium's populace open his mouth against his neck, trembling with both joy and anxiety. A free mage was the last thing Anders had ever thought he could be.

Suddenly, Anders jumped up, and pulled Dorian into a tight embrace. Dorian's shock was clear as he met Fenris' gaze. Anders hadn't yet touched anyone other than Fenris of his own volition. After a second, Dorian's arms returned the hug, his eyes blinking rapidly. "Festis bei umo canavarum, Anders. How many times will you bring me to tears with your happiness?"

Still holding him, Anders' voice replied, "Hopefully, many times. I don't care what cultural mandates say, Dorian... you are my brother."

The blinking didn't help, then. Tears flowed.

Anders released his hold, and Dorian produced a handkerchief, quickly blotting his eyes. "Fasta vass... I'm a spectacle." He turned to his desk, and pulled an envelope from a drawer. "There's a bit of paperwork, yet."

He laid the contents of the envelope on the desk. "If you're both still agreeable, we can change Fenris' ownership, effective immediately."

Fenris bounced on his toes. He had no part in this transaction, yet he felt like he was about to participate in a momentous event. Anders looked at him questioningly.

"Yes. Yes, do it."

It was shamefully easy to assign the life of one man into the hands of another; two signatures and the receipt of sale. Anders hesitated after signing his name, then extended the quill toward Fenris.

"I want you to sign, as well."

Fenris' eyes widened. "Slaves don't sign their ownership papers."

"I want you to be part of this. There's no place designated for it, but you can sign under my name."

Fenris stared at him for a few beats, then smiled. He took the quill, and very carefully, signed his name. Dorian picked up the papers, and held them out. Anders gestured with his head. He wanted Fenris to have them. The elf took the proffered receipt, and held it reverently.

He was delighted. Ecstatic. He felt a security he'd never known. He was thrilled beyond any comprehension. He could have frolicked. Instead, he pulled Anders to him, and kissed him thoroughly.

Fenris looked at the man who had just remolded their world. "Dorian, we cannot thank you enough, in a hundred lifetimes, for what you've done for us. The first time we heard your name, we were preparing our goodbye's to be sent to our death. We could never have known you were going to give us our own life."

Dorian looked at him, jaw tight. Suddenly he turned away, handkerchief at his eyes again. "Kaffas! You two are destroying my reputation."

There was much rejoicing. Although a Great Family adoption was normally celebrated with a large party and much ceremony, the three men had a private function. Wine was opened, Dorian presented Anders with an Altus Amulet. He finally put his foot down on them expressing their gratitude. His eyes were red and sinuses clogged, he would have no more thanks expressed. He explained that they owed him nothing. That they had come to mean more to him than any family designation could convey... and, then he made his own self shed tears.

"Vishante kaffas! No more! You know how I feel, I know how you feel, let's empty some bottles."

Then, the three men proceeded to get royally plastered. Dorian and Fenris had high constitutions for alcohol. Anders hadn't had a drink in over ten years. While Dorian and Fenris were still commenting on the qualities of the very good wine, Anders was well into his buzz.

Dorian and Fenris watched Anders as he slowly floated into his cups. He started to talk. He told outrageous stories. Time in the Circle, time on the run from the Circle. Time as a Warden, time on the run from the Wardens. Fenris was overwhelmingly happy, watching his mage. Anders was beautiful, free, laughing. The mage's stories were unbelievable, the characters in them unlikely.

Yet, Fenris knew they were true. He could spot a lie in Anders at a hundred paces, if they ever got that far apart.

Fenris laughed with him, watching as Dorian became enchanted by Anders, as well. Dorian and Fenris finally began to feel their drink, and laughter rang out between all three. Dorian matched Anders' tales with stories of his own from the Inquisition. Dorian even told of his romance with Bull, leaving the two in fits of laughter.

Fenris wasn't a story teller; most of his tales were bleak. But, he was a consummate listener. He listened and laughed until his ribs ached.

When Anders stood, and tried to demonstrate a version of the Remigold, Dorian was horrified, and stood to correct him. Fenris had never done the dance, but had seen it hundreds of times in his early years with Danarius, accompanying him to parties. He stood, informed them they were both wrong, and corrected them, as well. They moved to Dorian's bedchamber to watch themselves in the mirror. All three of them hung on one another for balance, and corrected each other's mistakes as none of them got it right.

Finally, collapsing in a tangled heap of laughter, they landed on the bed. As they panted from their laughter and exertion, Anders made a declaration.

"I am so wasted."

Dorian replied, "Excellent. You can't start life as a Tevinter noble without an alcohol addiction."

Fenris shoved at Anders' shoulder. "If you're gonna throw up, turn that way."

"The things you say. There will be no tossing of cookies in my bedchamber. Hold your liquor like men."

Soon, silence fell in the room as all three succumbed to the lull of darkness and drunkenness.

Fenris awoke to a throbbing head the next morning. His mouth tasted like a dirty carpet soaked in wine. He slowly opened his eyes. The back of Anders' head was in front of him. Fenris was sweating. He'd fallen asleep in his clothes. He pulled his shirt off, then noticed. The bed wasn't theirs, the room wasn't even theirs. He poked Anders.

"Wake up, Mage." He poked him, again. "Wake up."

"What?"

"I'm sick. Fix it."

"Leave me alone. My head is pounding."

"Fix it."

Anders groaned, but rolled over. His body lit with blue light, and and he sighed deeply. "Maker, that's better." He turned to Fenris, and did the same to him.

"I'm so glad you got your magic back," the elf groaned. He looked around. "This is Dorian's room. Where's Dorian?"

Anders reached his arm up and plucked a note from the pillows. "Uh... says he'll be back in the afternoon." He put down the note and took a long look at Fenris. "You're half-naked." He leaned over him and placed an open-mouthed kiss on the lyrium lines of his chest. "Mmmmmmm... Maker, you're delicious..."

Fenris surrendered to the sensation of Anders sucking and licking along the markings. The lines lit faintly when Anders did this, the sensation in one line connecting to the others. He ran his fingers into the hair of the mage working his way slowly down his body, feeling the short, soft stuff under his hands. He groaned as Anders reached his waistband. The mage's hand slipped under the material, started pulling it down...

"Vishante kaffas! On my bed? Are you barbarians? Stop, this instant!"

They turned their heads to find Dorian in the doorway, looking aghast. "I should have kicked you both out before I left, you plebians! I mean it, take your hand out of his pants!"

Anders removed his hand, crawled back up and lay beside Fenris. "I'm not plebian, I'm an Altus."

Fenris nodded. "I'm not plebian, I'm lower than that." Anders ran a hand into the elf's hair, kissed his ear.

Dorian pointed a finger at Anders. "You join my family, then you shag your paramour on my bed? That's... actually, that sounds about right."

All three chuckled. "Your note said you wouldn't be back until afternoon," Anders pointed out.

"It is afternoon, Lay-about. And, that wasn't an invitation to defile my bed until then."

"Where were you?"

"Oh, a meeting about this, and a meeting about that. There was a delivery while you slept. Come see."

A large pile of boxes awaited them in their suite. Dorian picked one up, then held it out to Anders. He crossed to take it from him, and Dorian handed another to Fenris.

Anders' box contained robes. They were made of soft material, greens and browns. Close-fitting pants; loose, long sleeves; a single-shouldered drape that came just to mid-thigh in front back, with a short fringe at the bottom. The drape left his legs visible on the sides, and belted at the waist. Dorian had worn a similar style a few times. Anders began changing into them.

Fenris was busy getting into and adjusting his armor. He glanced up just in time to see Dorian help Anders adjust the lay of the outfit, and step back. He felt his jaw drop. He knew Anders. Knew him like he knew himself. Had seen every expression his face could make, every position his body could take. But, this... this man...

A powerful, high-born mage stood before him. Hair short, showing the beauty of his face. Robes open at the neck and loose at the sleeve, revealing smooth, golden skin, with no hint of tattoos. The breeches hugged his thighs, revealing their long lines. Fenris' heart skipped, then pounded.

Anders' shy smile was directed at him, now. "How do I look?"

"Like I should worship you," he murmured. Anders ducked his head, grinning. He glanced back up.

"Fenris, that armor is perfect."

"It's much like what you always knew me in," he replied, shaking off his awe. "It's much lighter, more comfortable in the joints."

"Gentlemen, you have more. Let's get dressing!"

Anders had several similar robes. Some in leather for travel, and some in sumptuous cloth for casual wear. Dorian had also had very casual sets of lounge-wear made-up, tunics and loose breaches. He had boots, too, which he had some trouble navigating. It had been years since he'd had footwear.

Fenris had a couple sets of armor, black and charcoal grey. He also had several sets of simple leggings and tunics. He wanted no footwear.

When they stepped before the mirror at Dorian's behest, they simply stood and took themselves in. They were no beaten, cowed, matched-set of slaves. They were a handsome pair; mage and warrior. Men to be reckoned with. Men to determine their own destiny.

Anders spoke, finally. "I can't believe it."

"Nor can I."

"I can," Dorian said quietly. "This is who you were meant to be. You've simply forgotten, during your journey through the Void."

tbc...

Author's Notes:

I had to fill-in a lot of gaps in Tevinter culture for this story.

Although it's easy to change outward signs of abuse, the marks on the soul are much harder to make disappear (and, they don't, always). They still have a ways to go.