When Fenris woke up the next day the sun had already claimed her place high in the sky. It had taken a long time before he had finally fallen asleep, and now he had slept way past sunrise. Usually he woke up before the sun was even visible on the horizon.

Now I will not make it to Kirkwall before dark.

He picked up his belt and fastened it around his waist, then hoisted his sword on his back. Laastly he put the bag with the two books over his shoulder and went on his way. Most of the Vimmark Mountains were already behind him. Just one last ascent and descent in the form of Sundermount and then finally more level ground. Fenris estimated it was only a few hours before noon. He decided to increase his pace to try to make up for the time he had lost. The less time he would have to continue after dark, the better.

By the time he had almost reached Kirkwall, the sun had long set. Fenris' legs and feet were sore of the long days of walking. So close to the city he did not want to spend another night outside. He had had enough of all the dirt and sand and longed to finally be clean. His last bath had been days ago and he was covered by a salty mixture of sweat and dust. The color of the skin of his feet could only be guessed, with the layer of black earth that had decided to stick to his soles.

Kirkwall with its places like the Hanged Man may not be clean, but it's still better than all the filth nature has to offer.

At least he had made it without being discovered by hunters, as remarkable as that seemed. Would Danarius not even care enough about his apprentice to seek revenge for her death? Fenris chuckled to himself. Of course not. Danarius would not care that Hadriana was dead. Only how that made him look in front of the other magisters. If he sought revenge, it was for the stain on his reputation that Fenris had created. But then why did he not come? Why not prove he could handle one runaway slave?

Fenris shook his head. It just made no sense. Perhaps Danarius was scared? Or he was simply hoping the anxious waiting would drive Fenris mad. That was actually working. To constantly have to be on edge was...

He halted in the middle of Lowtown. Footsteps. Boots scuffling behind him. A glance over his shoulder yielded no information. He saw no one.

Don't be paranoid, he told himself. It's not that late yet. This is a city. There are other people here too, you know. Just to be sure, he checked his markings for any hint of magic in the area, but he felt nothing.

He started walking again, but kept looking around for any possible threat. He passed by the empty market stalls and went up the stairs. It was not far anymore. Just a bunch of stairs.

A man stepped into his field of vision from around the corner, blocking his path. In the darkness Fenris could not see his face.

"What have we here? A lonely elf?"

A second man appeared next to the first and studied Fenris. "He looks weird," was his conclusion.

"You have valuables, elf?" the first man asked.

"I possess no coin." I can easily take those two. Fenris prepared himself to quickly pull his sword from his back.

A female voice shouted from behind him: "Boss, I recognize that elf! He is with the Champion! I have seen them."

The first man took two steps forward, down the stairs. "The Champion, you say?"

"Aye. I have seen him next to the Champion with my own eyes."

Champion! Oh, Hawke, damn you.

The eyes of the bandit leader shimmered in what little light the moon provided. "Let's see what the Champion will pay to get his pet elf back."

I can take the three of them. "Most unwise," he warned.

"I don't think so, knife-ear." Two more thugs slipped out of the shadows and joined their leader. Fenris turned his head slightly to look behind him. Six. Eight. Perhaps even more. Not so easy...

Below the eyes, something else glimmered in the leader's face: his teeth, exposed in a vicious grin. He walked further down the stairs and stopped two steps higher than Fenris, who now could smell the man's foul breath that escaped from the triumphant grin. It smelled like onions and deep mushrooms.

"Come with us, nice and easy, and we won't hurt you," the man rumbled in his low, hoarse voice.

Within two seconds Fenris' markings burst into their fully active state. Giving the man no time to recoil, Fenris thrust his left arm forward. As a ghostly limb, it went into the thug's chest without meeting any resistance. The barrier of skin, muscle, even bone, meant nothing to Fenris. Without hesitation he sought, and found, the heart. There, with his fingers around it, his hand took its solid form again, allowing him to get a hold on the heart. All it took then was a swift, firm pull, and the still pumping heart was removed from the man's chest. He puffed out a last onion breath before he fell dead on the steps. It had only taken a moment, perhaps just enough for the fool to realize he was about to die.

Fenris did not wait for the other bandits to process the unexpected turn of events, but spun around on his heels and threw the heart in the face of one of the men standing behind him, while with his free hand he unsheathed his blade. With a menacing growl he jumped of the stairs, sword raised above his head, and cut down a second thug, who held up an arm to protect his eyes against the bright light of the lyrium and did not even see the blow coming. Fenris' sword cut effortlessly through the arm and split the man's skull in two.

"That elf can do magic!" shouted the woman who had recognized him earlier. "He killed the boss! Get him!"

No more chance to exploit the element of surprise; the bandits were now ready to fight. Fenris managed to cut off a hand that reached for a maul, before he had to jump aside to evade a sword himself. The man who had lost his hand shrieked in terror, clutching the stump with his remaining hand, unable to prevent the blood from surging out of his wounded arm with a deadly speed. Fenris turned, in an attempt to get a wall behind him to cover his vulnerable back, but the stairs and the number of enemies made that impossible. They quickly surrounded him, like a hungry pack of wolves out for blood. A wall right behind him would limit his range of movement too much and made it more difficult to dodge incoming blows.

So he circled around, swinging his blade to keep the bandits at a distance. One man, apparently feeling invincible with the advantage of numbers, lunged forward with his weapon high above his head, in the same way as Fenris had attacked earlier. Fenris stuck his sword through the man's undefended belly. With his own speed, he pinned himself upon the steel.

But others saw their chance when Fenris tried to remove his blade from the man's abdomen. Two lashed out from behind at the same time. He could avoid one by ducking, but the other managed to hit his upper arm and cut open flesh. Fenris gritted his teeth, pulled his blade out of the now dead man and immediately swung it around in a wide arc. The two who had attacked him from behind and had gotten close were hit. The point of his sword tore through their light armor and the soft tissue underneath. They stumbled backwards as their entrails came spilling out.

Something came flashing by and cut his neck in passing. Archer. He was lucky it was only a grazing shot. A bit more to the left and the arrow would have cut through his throat. That the enemy was in the majority also meant the archer had a hard time aiming. The only advantage.

Fenris turned around once more, quickly counting his opponents. Five. Plus archer.

By now the remaining bandits were furious. The three in front of him attacked simultaneously, all from a different angle and height. Fenris readied his sword to block them, but a fourth jumped him from behind and grabbed his bag with the two books to prevent him from moving. The jerk at his shoulder brought Fenris off balance. He bumped into the person holding the bag. It was the woman. Or at least a woman. He was uncertain whether it was the same who had yelled before. Not that it mattered. What mattered was that she sank a knife in his side up until the hilt.

Fenris reacted by banging an elbow against her face. He could feel her nose break before she was knocked off her feet by the blow. She let go of the bag and her knife. With four more enemies standing Fenris had no time to take the knife out, needing both hands to wield his blade. He felt the knife cut through more muscle as he kept moving to avoid being hit another time. A new arrow came flying by, missing him. It was only a matter of time before one would find its target. With his living wall of defense diminishing he became a literally shining target with his burning markings.

And that gives me an idea.

Concentrating on the markings in the heat of battle was not something he was used to do. Normally they did what he wanted them to without needing any thought. They seemed to thrive on the adrenaline rush that came with every fight. But now he wanted to turn them off. Fenris focused all his energy on putting their activity to an abrupt halt. Come on, lights out. Didn't Hawke say that once?

His foes did not cooperate and wait patiently, but launched another attack. With his concentration elsewhere Fenris was slower to react. By making an awkward spin, he could evade two blades, but the remaining two made contact. Another cut in his arm, and one in his thigh.

Apparently inspired by the woman's example, the last person behind him attempted to grab his bag again. At the same time that the bandit's hand closed around the strap of the bag, the light of Fenris' markings finally went out, leaving them in pitch-black darkness. Fenris acted immediately. He lunged himself off the stairs, dragging the thug who had gotten a hold on his back with him. At the impact with the ground, the knife in his side moved, tearing through even more flesh. Fenris turned on his back and cut the bag with books loose. He heard the thug, dazed from the fall, move, searching for him. The man kept holding the bag, thinking it was still connected to Fenris.

Fenris determined the man's position and lashed out with his sword. It connected with something firm and living. The man yelped, and Fenris struck again. Silence. He made use of the moment of quiet to finally remove the knife from his body. Warm blood flushed out of the large wound, soaking his leather armor. He was bleeding out of the smaller cuts in his arm and leg as well. Four more. Three, plus archer.

As quietly as possible, Fenris moved in the direction of where he thought the archer was. He had to keep focusing to let his markings remain inactive. The lyrium seemed eager to join the fight again. Running footsteps resonated behind him. Fenris could also hear the archer's nervous breathing before him. He kept close to the ground and stalked around the archer. The sound of a bowstring, a fired arrow, followed by a loud thud of something heavy falling on the ground told Fenris that the archer had indeed taken down one of his allies in his anxiety. Fenris came out of his crouching position and gave the archer a firm push. He fell onto the swords of the two other bandits. Fenris followed, sword sweeping, finishing off the last two.

It's over.

With that thought he seemed to have allowed the pain to pass through. Fenris gasped at the burning sensation in his side. Blood kept streaming out of the wound, now soaking even his breeches. The other gashes stung fiercely, but were of little meaning. The injury of the woman's knife was of more pressing concern.

I need healing. Fenris raised his right arm to put his sword on his back, when something sharp found its way, right between two ribs, under his armpit. The vicious pain made him drop his sword.

"I'm still here, bastard," a voice whispered near his ear. The woman. That bitch.

With this unexpected danger, the markings came to life again before he had to think about it. The woman saw her chance to twist the knife right before Fenris plunged his left hand into her chest. He did not bother to rip her heart out, but simply damaged everything by moving his steel gauntlet around inside her, tearing through the living tissue. In the light of the lyrium he saw that her nose had been completely flattened, with two streams of blood streaming over her mouth and chin.

She was dead as soon as Fenris removed his hand from her body. He roared in pain when he pulled her knife out of him. That one woman has done more damage than the rest of the group combined.

I need healing. I need Hawke. He bent to pick up his sword, but nearly fell over from the pain in his left side. Fenris held his right hand against the wound, hoping to decrease the bleeding. I'm losing too much blood. At this rate there was not much time to reach Hightown and Hawke's mansion. He groped around until his fingers finally bumped against the hilt of his blade. He clutched it and started walking as fast as he could, which was not very fast.

It hurts to breathe.

When he reached the stairs he had climbed when the bandit's leader had stopped him, Fenris groaned. This would be the first of many more to get to Hightown.

Hawke. I have to get to him. Doesn't matter how long it takes. When I'm there, it's going to be alright.

And so the last part of his journey began.

By the time he finally reached Hightown's market, he could barely get one foot in front of the other. He was feeling lightheaded because of all the blood he had lost, and he heard wet sounds with every breath he took. Fenris suspected that the knife had punctured his lung. The weight of his sword, which he was still holding in his left hand and dragging with him, was almost too much, but he could not raise his arm to fasten it on his back.

He tripped a few times while he crossed the marketplace. Every time he had to increase his struggles to get up, and every time it took a little longer before he stood again. It must be late, because he saw nobody, not even a lonely guard on patrol.

At the end of the marketplace were more stairs. Fenris tried to raise his foot enough to get on the first step, but his toes hit the edge and he fell down once more.

I can't get up. His sword was too heavy. He needed his left arm to get himself up the stairs. I cannot be unarmed. What if Danarius comes? It would really be something for his master to appear now that he was wounded and unable to even stand upright.

Dead with blade is just as dead. He could not fool himself. He was in no condition to fight. If Danarius would come, he could simply pick him up. Fenris released his sword and dragged himself up the steps, one by one. With one arm he was still clutching the wound in his left side, but by holding it there he also pressed against the wound under his right armpit. The nerves there kept screaming their painful protest against that contact.

Above the stairs he lay down, with his face on the cold stones. Fenris wanted to close his eyes and rest there, only for a little while. It hurt to continue. It hurt to breathe. Everything hurt.

But he had to continue, he knew, or he would never get up again.

I am close. Close to Hawke. It can't be far anymore. This is Hightown, right?

Fenris gritted his teeth and pushed himself up with his free arm. Slowly he managed to put his weight on his legs. Even more slowly he started limping in the direction he hoped Hawke's estate was.

He tripped, but regained his balance. He took four steps. He tripped again and fell. He did his best to get up, but he couldn't. He crawled.

Where am I going?

He barely felt his injuries anymore.

That's not good.

He had lost every sense of direction. His vision was blurred, but it was dark, so he could not see much anyway. He simply crawled, went on. He had to get somewhere. To someone?

He hit his head. Something was in his way. He looked up. A door, between two stone pillars. He had hit his head against one of them. He had been looking for a door, had he not? But was it the right door? There was something hanging above it, some kind of symbol. A torch hanging next to the door lit the crest with the red symbol so that he could see it. Fenris smiled to himself as he recognized it. Pigeons.

Only a little farther and he was by the door. He crawled the last few inches. There. The door. He had made it. But the door was closed. He had to get inside. The door should open. Knock, he had to knock on the door. Fenris raised his left arm and knocked on the door, but he could barely hear the sound himself. He tried to yell, but instead he coughed. He tasted metal. He coughed again, and this time blood flowed over his lips.

That's not good either, he thought, in an oddly detached way. He knew it should concern him, but somehow it did not, as if this was about someone else, a stranger he did not know and did not care about.

Perhaps he should go somewhere else. This door was closed, and he could not knock. Or yell. Fenris tried to get up, but his legs could not carry him anymore and he fell back against the door.

"He.. help!" More coughing. More blood. He turned his head to feel the firm wood against his cheek. He would close his eyes here, for a moment. Then he would go on and find a door that would open. But he had to rest first. For a moment.

The wood moved away from him. A familiar voice came from above his head. "I thought I heard something..."

With the door gone, Fenris tumbled forward. He hit his head against something else, something warm. "What... Fenris?! Anders! Anders, get over here and help me!" the voice shouted.

No, no, I don't want Anders. This is the wrong door. It was his last thought before darkness embraced him.