Fenris did not notice the owner of the Hanged Man stumbling from his hiding place behind the bar, yelling they had to compensate him for the mess they had made. Nor was he aware of Hawke gesturing to Isabela and Varric that they had to leave, which they silently did while Fenris kept walking. His gaze was fixated on the street in front of him. He did not see the people they passed staring openly at him: a strange elf with markings on his arms and neck, covered in blood, limping by. He ignored the stinging of his wounds, the blood that was still oozing from them. The pain in his foot was harder to ignore, but despite its sharp presence he kept up a brisk pace. Walking would have been a lot harder if Hawke had not kept up his healing aura to numb the pain, but Fenris did not even realize it. All he cared about was getting away. Away from that place, his sister, his dead master. Away from the things Varania had told him.

Except they travelled with him.

"You said you didn't ask for this, but that's not true."

The lyrium had come to rest, but he could still feel it, as always. It was not only in his skin, but everywhere. Deeper. Inside him. He did not know better than that it was there, a part of him. He could not lose it, get rid of it.

"You wanted it. You competed for it."

How could he have wanted this? How could the things he hated so much be a prize? He did not want it! It had ruined his life, stolen his past and traded it for pain. How could this be the better end of the bargain?

"You wanted it. You competed for it."

She was wrong. She had to be. Why trust anything that came out of her venomous mouth? She had lied, just to get to him, to hurt him even more. A last strike of a snake. She had lied before; no reason she would not do it again.

"You wanted it. You competed for it."

The words kept bouncing through his head; he could not shake them off. He was breathing hard through his nose, his chest heaving. It was the first time he was walking somewhere and could be absolutely sure no one was after him. For the first time there was no need to look over his shoulder. He could not even enjoy it. There was only room for Varania's words in his mind.

"You wanted it. You competed for it."

He wanted to scream so that he no longer had to hear it. Instead he swallowed and unlocked the door to Danarius' - now truly his - mansion. Hawke entered after him. He had been silent the entire way, something that did not happen often. As soon as the door closed behind them, Fenris' restraint dissolved.

"You should have let me kill her!"

Hawke's reply was soft. "I know."

"Then why did you stop me?"

Hawke did not avert his eyes at Fenris' anger. "Like I said... she seemed to be as much a victim as you. Danarius is the one who caused all this. He clearly manipulated her. Maybe he threatened her."

"I don't care! She sold me out! Just because she wanted to become a magister. There is no excuse for that!"

"I know."

"Then why didn't you let me kill her?!" He was shouting so hard his throat felt raw.

"She is your family, Fenris," Hawke's voice remained calm. "You shouldn't kill your family. And..."

"And what?"

Now Hawke did look away. "She... had your eyes. I... didn't want to see what it looks like when life leaves those eyes."

For a moment Fenris stood gaping at Hawke. Then his mouth snapped shut. "I had to let her go because she had pretty eyes," he hissed angrily.

Hawke's brow furrowed. "I didn't say they were pretty eyes..."

"Fasta vass! This is not funny!"

Hawke's face immediately turned serious again. "I know."

"I've fought for these!" Fenris hit Hawke on the chest with both hands. The right one, the steel gauntlet and the palm of his hand, was covered in blood. Most had already dried up and become sticky, but he still left some smears on Hawke's dark robes. He let his fists come down again. And again. "I've fought for these..." His cry turned into a sob. "I've fought for my own curse."

Hawke's arms closed around him and pulled him close. Fenris leaned into Hawke's embrace, his hands still on his chest, while he tried to hold back the tears that welled up in his eyes. He did not want to appear weak in front of Hawke, but he had no strength left to fight. Not even to fight tears.

Having Hawke so close felt safe. The familiar smell of smoke, sweat and blood surrounded him. Magic absorbed from Hawke coursed through his markings and made them buzz. Fenris could feel how Hawke let his chin rest on the top of his head. Hawke's arms around him were warm and comforting. It was like they could shield him from what had happened today, protect him from the words that cut through him so viciously.

But they could not. A mere illusion of safety was all they provided. Nothing but another lie. Believing Hawke's arms would somehow make things better was ridiculous.

He wrestled himself away. "I wanted to find out if I could be more... if I was once more than what Danarius turned me into," he said with his back turned to Hawke. "Now I know I just used to be an even bigger fool."

"That's what you got from what Varania said? I heard something else. I heard her tell of a man who risked himself to give his family freedom. You sacrificed yourself to free them. And I don't think the ritual has wiped that man away."

Hawke's interpretation was tempting to believe. As before, he somehow managed to turn things in a way that made them seem less bad. But the hard truth was that he had wanted and fought for the markings, and that was impossible to make better. The truth was he had brought his faith upon himself. His own choice had destroyed a whole part of his life and tainted the rest. Hawke's optimism was wasted on this.

"Not now, Hawke." He took a shaky breath. "I... I need to be alone."

A gentle hand touched his neck near the bite mark. "You need healing."

He shrugged. "I'll live."

"An undead gave you a hickey and you almost cut off your own toes. I'm not leaving you like this." With that, Hawke bent over Fenris to examine the bite mark. "I'll have to clean this... Wait, is that a tooth? Ugh. Disgusting monsters. Do you have cloth and water here somewhere?"

Fenris raised his head to look at Hawke. "You're hurt yourself." He carefully touched the gash above Hawke's brow. The cut had not closed yet, though the bleeding was diminishing. Hawke flinched at the contact.

"Ouch! It's not as bad as it looks," he grunted. "I'll get to it later. You first."

Hawke did not need much time to clean the wound in Fenris' neck and the shallow cuts in his arms. He tended to them in silence. When he had forced Fenris to sit down so that he could treat the injury in his foot, he cleared his throat. "Fenris... I'm sorry I was such an ass earlier, when you told me your sister was coming." Hawke fixated his eyes on Fenris' foot. "I... eh... I think I was disappointed you hadn't told me earlier you were looking for her. Apparently you did trust Aveline with it."

"I didn't keep it from you because I don't trust you. I felt like I had to do it on my own. I owe you enough already. Now even more... If you hadn't come with me today, I would have had no chance against Danarius."

Hawke hesitated before he spoke again. "What Danarius said..."

Fenris closed his eyes. Don't.

"'The lad is rather skilled, isn't he'..."

Don't, Hawke.

"And your reaction... He... did not mean your skills as a bodyguard, did he?"

Fenris turned his face away. "Leave it, Hawke."

Hawke's eyes grew wide. "He... he... Oh, damn it. A...and I said... back then... I asked if I reminded you of him. I did, didn't I? Reminded you..."

Fenris jerked his foot free from Hawke's hands. "What do you want to hear, Hawke? Why do you have to know everything?" He jumped up, something he immediately regretted because Hawke had not yet healed his foot. "It's not always about you! This is not about you."

Hawke had fallen back when Fenris had suddenly pulled his leg away. At first he looked ashamed, then his expression turned more determined. "So it was like that then," he said from his position on the floor. "I made you think of Danarius."

"No! How... No! Can you never let something rest? Does every sordid detail have to be dragged out?"

"This is not a detail."

Hawke would not give up. He would not let it go. This was the last thing Fenris had wanted him to know, but as a last cruel deed Danarius had hinted at it. And of course Hawke had picked up on the hint. Of all the humiliations... Danarius was dead but still his past could not be ignored.

Hawke just wanted to be reassured, not caring what he was digging up this time. He was thinking how it reflected on him, not Fenris. His ego could not bear the idea of being similar to Danarius in some way.

"What do you want me to say? What do you want to know? How it felt? If I enjoyed it? That I believed it a reward when I could lie in the same bed as him, although it for some reason always meant Hadriana would torment me the days that followed? That I thought it was a sign I had been good and that my master was pleased with me, and that I only found out later that it was actually one of the greatest violations I suffered? Do you want to know if I screamed his name? If I reached climax? DO YOU?!"

Hawke scrambled to his feet, his head lowered. "You're right. I... I don't want to know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Breathing heavily, Fenris turned away. "Go. I've had enough of selfish mages today."

"When I've healed your foot."

He spun around, although the pain in his foot made that difficult. "Go away, Hawke!" He gave Hawke a push. "Leave!"

Hawke grabbed Fenris' bloodied right arm. "I'll go when I've healed you. Now sit down." By applying pressure, Hawke forced Fenris to take the weight off his foot and sit back down. Not wasting any time, Hawke kneeled in front of him and placed his hands on the wound. The healing magic quickly did its work. At first there was a sharp sting, then the pain faded as the flesh started to mend. Ten seconds later only the blood that remained indicated there had once been a wound there. Hawke stretched his knees and got up. Fenris gazed at him while he walked to the door. In the opening, Hawke halted.

"One more thing: you are not alone, Fenris. If you would ever want me to, I am here."

Fenris gave no reply. Perhaps the averting of his eyes was an answer in itself.

He sat and stared without seeing anything. He was free. After ten years, he was finally, truly, completely free. No master hunting him. Danarius' blood covered his hand and gauntlet, just as Hadriana's blood had almost three years ago. Danarius was dead. He had his freedom.

What now?

He had not made any plans for the future. What was the point when Danarius could have shown up at any time? He had never bothered to look far ahead, because it could easily turn out to be for nothing. What little hopes he had had involved Varania, and she had turned on him. He had no family. The conversations about their past he had been looking forward to would never take place. All she had given him was the knowledge that the markings that had been burned into him had been won. They were his prize. A prize he had wanted. He could not understand it. In no way he was able to comprehend why his old self had competed for this. Was this what he was meant to be then after all? A weapon?

How the Maker must have laughed at his search for his purpose! It had been right under his nose. He was what Danarius had made him, and he had wanted to be it. Perhaps he had been fooling himself when he said he did not wish the power the markings granted him. A pride demon had tempted him with the same: the promise of power. Power so great he could withstand even Danarius. The need for power had not been lost with his memory. Apparently it was still inside him.

He was meant for killing. That was why he had slaughtered the Fog Warriors, had broken his word and murdered Hadriana, had torn Danarius' heart from him. And had almost killed his own sister. He would have done it if Hawke had not stopped him. Could Hawke be what made him into someone better..? If it had really been the best thing to spare Varania... Had he killed her, she would not have been able to spew her poison. The knowledge of what she had told him would not bear down so heavily on his shoulders. His world would have been slightly less shaken. She should have died! He had freed her, and instead of with gratitude she returned it with betrayal.

"Freedom was no boon."

How could she not want to be free? Did she prefer slavery? How could someone who had gained freedom long back to the days of serving a master? Freedom was so important. With freedom... what did one do when free? He had nothing. No family, no goal... not even an enemy. For so long his hatred was what had sustained him. But now there was nothing to direct his hatred at. Danarius and Hadriana were dead. Magic continued to exist, but what good would it do him to blindly hate all mages? It was not like he could wipe magic from the face of the world. He had allowed his hatred to burn away everything around him, and now that the last flames died away he was alone and surrounded with ashes.

"You are not alone, Fenris."

Hawke. When he asked himself what he wanted, he saw Hawke's face before him, felt his rough hands on him. He could not even picture what his life would look like if he had never met Hawke. Because of Hawke, he had finally gained his freedom. Without Hawke, Hadriana would have captured him. Hawke's force magic had knocked Danarius off the stairs and disrupted his spell so that Fenris could finish him. Had Hawke not offered to teach him how to read, he could not have contacted Varania. Without Hawke he would not know what he knew now. So much was because of Hawke. He was not sure if he should be thanking him on his knees or hate him for it.

But this was a mage he could not possibly hate. Possibly the only mage. When it came to Hawke, the hate had lost, despite the strong presence of magic inside him. Even though the man often asked for it, with his pushing and prodding, pulling at what he wanted to know until it was in plain view.

Fenris clenched his fists. Hawke knew what else Danarius had used him for. He had not wanted him to know, not now, perhaps never. But Danarius had revealed it, although his own reaction had not helped to diminish Hawke's suspicion either. It was disgusting and humiliating. He knew that now. Back then, he did not. To say he had wanted it was too much, but he had not hated - or even disliked - it. It had been another way of satisfying his master, one that happened to feel good... most of the time. But it was nowhere close to that one night with Hawke. To think that Hawke believed it had been the same as with Danarius... it made Fenris feel sick. There was no way to compare the two in this. Hawke had not owned him. He had wanted it. He had wanted nothing that much. And he still wanted it, had never stopped wanting it.

Seeing Danarius and hearing his arrogant insinuations had brought back many memories. His master undressed, the greed, the hunger in his eyes. The way Danarius had stroked his hair, scratched behind his ears, as if he were some kind of pet... The short command to take off his clothes, the finger that gestured to come closer...

Stop. Danarius was gone. There was no need to relive this in the context of what he had learned later. He got his revenge. Should it not feel better? He had expected it would. But the memories remained, as did everything Danarius had done to him. The markings were still there. The pain did not disappear. He still hated Danarius.

Fenris closed his eyes. Hawke. Immediately he saw Hawke, smiling. The intense look in his eyes when he tried to see through Fenris. His dark hair with the reddish hue falling in soft curls around his cheeks. He could almost feel the warmth and comfort of his embrace again.

He had hoped Varania could give him a reason he was good enough for Hawke. He had ended up with the opposite. If anything, he had turned out to be even more unworthy.

He opened his eyes again. But he was free. He had the chance to do what he wanted. There was only one thing he wanted. Only one person. Hawke could replace the hate inside him. To fill the gaping emptiness, he needed Hawke. If he had nothing else, the hate might find a new target. He knew it would turn to self-loathing. Hate for himself, for the fact that he had competed for the markings, would seep into the empty space.

That was not what he wanted to happen with his hard-won freedom. His life could not wither away like that. He would not allow his hatred to take even more.

He needed Hawke.

His head spun. How could he not have realized this sooner? Why had he been so afraid to admit it? So much time he had wasted, searching for his sister, desperately clinging to the promise of something that would make everything better, easier. Nearly three years later, and he had ended up with nothing. Nothing but more reasons to hate.

Was it too late now? Panic surged through him at the thought. Why would Hawke still care about him? For all he knew, he had lost any chance long ago. He recalled Hawke's hesitance to agree with going to the Hanged Man, and how stiff their interaction over the past time had been. Had he lost what he wanted most of all before he had even realized he needed it?

And now Hawke knew about Danarius' other 'activities' with Fenris... Fenris had interpreted Hawke's horror earlier as shock that he could be seen as similar to Danarius in some way, but what if Hawke had actually been repulsed by the idea of Fenris in this? Could Hawke be interested in someone who had been used that way? Was it proof for him that Fenris was weak?

Fenris got up from his sitting position and began to pace. He should not have yelled at Hawke, but it was so humiliating Hawke had found out...

He suddenly wished he could kill Danarius all over again. Not that it would help anything...

He took a deep breath. He had wasted enough time. There was only one way to find out if he had truly destroyed everything with his foolishness. After all, what did he have to lose?

By the end of the day Fenris heard someone at the door, but he did not go downstairs. No doubt it was Hawke, but he was not ready yet. Despite that he had realized what he had to do, he needed more time. Time to become at peace with everything he had learned today. It was more overwhelming than events during the day Hadriana ambushed him. Varania's betrayal, Danarius' death, that he had wanted the markings, Hawke finding out more about his duties as a slave, that he needed Hawke but had spent so much time pushing him away it was probably too late... It was too much, threatened to crush him.

He made his way to the cellar, but returned with empty hands. To handle all this he needed a clear head. Clouding it with wine, trying to drown it, would not help. Now was the time to face it all. The time of running was over. If he wanted to live, he had to stop fleeing.

With slow steps he walked to the door of Danarius' old bedroom and opened it. The air inside was moldy and heavy with dust. He had not been here since he had stepped inside the mansion with Hawke, with the intention to kill Danarius. Cobwebs were hanging in every corner. His bare feet left a trail in the layer of dust on the floor. In front of the tall mirror Fenris stopped. For a while he stared at the reflection of his own image. The dark armor, the steel gauntlets and breastplate, his white hair, the scar-like lines that curled over his arms and spread over his neck and chin up to his mouth.

He carefully loosened the straps of his left gauntlet and let it drop in the dust on the floor. The right gauntlet followed. Next he removed his breastplate. He did not look in the mirror while he took off his leather tunic and leggings. At last he peeled off his underclothes, allowing them to slide down his legs so that he could step out of them.

He stared at his feet. The lines and dots of lyrium that decorated his left foot were clearly visible. The pattern on his right was hidden underneath a layer of dried up blood that had turned brown by now. He directed his gaze at the mirror, still at the level of his feet. Slowly he let his eyes drift upwards, over his shins and knees. The markings reached down on both sides of his legs, with small branches that curled more towards the middle. On his upper legs the lines became more elaborate, seemingly dividing and curling at random to decorate as much skin as possible.

His eyes continued their journey to his abdomen, chest and arms. Blood was smeared on his arms and colored his right hand. When he eventually met his own eyes in the mirror, he started. There was hostility in them, fear, anger. Hate. He recognized it, saw it was still there. He observed the whole image and saw a killer. With blood all over his arms, hand and neck, the hunched shoulders and the vicious look in his eyes it was obvious he was meant for it. The markings, however delicate they might look, only added to this. Inactive, they were white and looked like scars.

He had to force himself not to smash the mirror right then. Instead, he briskly turned around and left the room. He went to the pump in the cellar that supplied the house with water. It took a few walks before he had filled the tub. The bucket he had used to get water was thrown to the side. Without hesitation Fenris stepped in the cold water. Heating it would have taken too much time. He had to clean himself now, wash away blood and the lingering touch of death.

By the time he was violently scrubbing his right hand in an attempt to get all the blood off, he was shivering in his cold bath. Yet he did not stop till his whole body was cleansed. When that was done to his satisfaction, he dunked his head under the surface to wash his hair. The water in the tub had a slight pink hue when he finally got out. Once dried up, he returned to Danarius' room.

The image had changed. With the blood gone, he appeared less feral, less dangerous. All the markings were visible now, and while they still looked like scars, they also seemed to accentuate other lines of his body: his abdominal muscles, the various muscles in his upper legs, the curve of his biceps. They drew attention to some of them and softened others. He found there was still a certain threat in them, but it was not as hideously obvious as before. He studied his face. His hair, still wet, hung flat. His large elven ears stuck out. But his eyes... What had happened to his eyes? The rage was gone. Hatred burned in them no longer. Now he only saw vulnerability, uncertainty, insecurity.

He took a step back. Who was this man? Where had the monster gone? He noticed his slumped shoulders and drew them back. With straightened back he once again focused on the markings.

"You say you didn't ask for this, but that's not true."

They had been burned into his flesh because he had wanted it.

"You wanted it. You competed for it."

He had won them.

"I look on you know and think you got the better end of the bargain."

The markings would not go away. Danarius' death meant nothing for their presence. Magic had had a strong influence on his life and always would. A craving for its power was hidden inside him. Though he still wished he could be rid of them, he no longer wanted to let the markings - no, magic - rule his life.

Fenris stared at his face. He was free. Accepting the truth about his past, about himself would not be easy. But he would try. He would find a way to deal with it. He would try to do what a free person did: build a life. He had started with it today.