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Everything was collapsing.
Fenris still couldn't quite believe what had happened to him. One day he'd been a free man, an independent and even well-off mercenary in the Free Marches city of Kirkwall, with a house and money and friends of his own; and by the time the sun had set on that day, he was a slave again.
How could it all have happened so fast? It hadn't taken a day; it hadn't even taken an hour. In truth, it had taken only a handful of moments, a few handful of words.
"If you want him, he's yours. He's no use to me."
From anyone else, those words would have infuriated him, driven him to lash out and claw and fight for his freedom -- but it had been Hawke. Hawke, whom he had trusted and admired and... and befriended, or so he'd thought. She'd helped him, once, and he'd devoted himself to her in return -- never quite bringing himself to think of her as a replacement master, but he'd followed her as unquestioningly as though it were so. He'd lent her his strength, watched her back, abided by her wishes even when it went against all his sensibilities to do so -- even when it meant tolerating and even helping blood mages and demon-riddled criminals.
But then, he was every bit as illegal, wasn't he? An escaped slave.
When Hawke had turned on him the floor had collapsed out of his world, and his strength ran out with it. There was no point in fighting any more, no point in struggling or striving any more. He couldn't have hoped to win against them both, Hawke who was fast and strong and cunning and unrelenting, and Danarius who was... everything. Instead he had submitted, capitulated, fallen back into his role as a slave just as though the past seven years had never happened at all. It had been easy. So easy.
And yet, he still woke up every morning since then believing, wishing, hoping that it had all been a bad dream, that it hadn't been true. For just a moment, before the rattle of chains warned his ears and the cuffs and collars were yanked taut. The metal was good steel, cold and unrelenting, and the wishing and believing in the world couldn't change that.
They had been a week at sea, sailing straight from Kirkwall around the Nocen Sea to dock at a tiny port village outside Qarinus. It would be a day's walk to the city where, from what Danarius had said, they would find his pre-arranged horses and wagons. From there they would travel by caravan back to Minrathous, and there -- Fenris knew -- the true nightmare would begin.
Danarius traveled with a small retinue, for a magister; half a dozen bodyguards and as many lackeys and servants -- some of them slaves, no doubt, although Fenris was the only one wearing chains this trip. The only one disobedient enough to require them.
Danarius hadn't hurt him, other than the discomfort of the chains and the misery of the ship's hold, but he didn't mistake it for a mercy. Danarius was distant and cold, barely addressing Fenris at all; but from what he'd overheard of his master's plans for him, once they returned to his estate and his laboratory…
The procession rounded a bend in the road, and then jerked to an uncertain halt. Fenris, his eyes trained on the ground, didn't see what had caused it at first; he only heard the confused cursing and shuffling of boots on the ground as Danarius' retinue slowed to a halt.
"Who is that?" he heard Danarius ask, his voice irritable. "Get him out of the road."
With the last daring he had left in him, Fenris rolled his eyes upwards, to peer at the unexpected obstacle without lifting his head. His vision was blurred, but he saw a dark silhouette of a man standing in the road in front of them, a wide-set stance to block the path.
Dark clothing, black on black. Boots so old and tattered their form was barely recognizable. A staff in one hand, a familiar blur at the shoulders -- what --
Fenris barely managed to keep from reacting. It couldn't be, it couldn't be -- and yet if it was, then his recognition could spell disaster. But he couldn't stop the sudden speeding of his heart, the dryness of his mouth and throat even as he strove to keep his breathing silent.
"Halt," the dark figure said, and the voice was otherworldly, almost earthshaking; Fenris knew that voice, although he'd only heard it a handful of times before. A chill ran down his spine; that was not Anders.
Danarius' guard captain stepped forward at the magister's command, one hand threateningly on his sword hilt. "Oi, vagrant!" he called out, arrogant and rude as only a servant in full awareness of his master's powerful backing could be. "Clear the path for your betters! A magister approaches!"
"Patrician or peasant, I stand aside for no man," the deep, rumbling voice answered. Fenris dared to raise his head just an inch, enough to pull the familiar silhouette into focus. The familiar, annoying face of the mage was transfigured by blue fire, pooling in his eyes and cracking through his skin. "I am Justice, and I cannot allow this atrocity to proceed."
"Justice, eh? A Fade spirit… but corporeal? Some kind of abomination?" Danarius muttered, sounding intrigued. Then he shook his head, dismissing the matter, and gave a negligent wave of his hand. "Let us pass, demon. I have no business with you."
"I will not," Justice said, and those three words had the unshakeable quality of a mountain. He raised his staff, pointing towards Danarius' party, and Fenris flinched when he realized that the abomination was pointing at him. "You have among your party a free man, bound in chains. Release him, and we will have no further quarrel."
Danarius scoffed. "Fenris is my slave, and I may bind him however I choose," he said, laying a hand on the back of Fenris' head to stroke his hair. Fenris shuddered. His hand dropped, and his voice turned icy cold. "I am well within my rights as a magister and a property holder of Tevinter. As a creature of Justice, you must respect the law."
"Laws are made by men, and men's hearts hold great evil," Justice declaimed. "If a law is evil, then I am not bound by it. To disobey an unjust law is itself justice."
"Bah! If you're going to be a stubborn, stupid little wisp, then so be it." Danarius scowled, and turned his head to address the rest of his retinue. "Guards! Dispose of this husk!"
Fenris felt the skin of his back break out in a sweat, adrenaline racing through veins and muscles too sluggish to respond. A handful of guardsmen, Tevinter trained or not, would hardly be a warm-up to Anders' pet demon. But they would keep him occupied, keep Danarius out of reach while the magister unleashed his full magic.
As the guards began to move forward, Justice waited with cold, passionless patience. But before the first man could get within range of him, Anders suddenly raised his staff, then slammed the butt of it back on the ground.
A wave of air and energy rushed forward, and Fenris felt a sudden, cold shock as the lyrium in his brands responded. There was a momentary flare of ice, and then -- nothing. Numbness, deadness, as though the living lyrium in his skin was no more than inert metal.
Beside him, Danarius shouted, his voice a strangled mix of consternation and outrage. "You -- how dare you!" he screeched. "You --"
He never got to finish whatever it was he was going to say next; an angry tirade, an accusation, or a spell. A shadow had separated itself from under the trees while all eyes were on the spectacle of Justice in front of them, and in that moment it came close enough to pounce.
A dark human figure landed on Danarius' back, one leg wrapped around his waist and its arms around his neck. The magister stumbled forward, but not far; a merciless hand gripped his hair and yanked it back, and then a blue-steel blade flashed across his throat. Fenris flinched involuntarily as the blood sprayed forward, warm flecks of it hitting his skin.
Danarius jerked once, gurgling horribly out of the new mouth in his throat as his hand claws desperately at the air. Then he sighed, slumped forward, and the light went out of his eyes.
Dead, Fenris thought, still too stunned to process it.
Dead.
"And that's how you do it," a familiar, slightly out-of-breath voice said, as Isabela disentangled herself from the crumbling body of the magister. "A knife to the throat kills a magister as dead as any man, once those pesky shields are out of the way."
Cries of consternation rose up from Danarius' guards, and they wavered in sudden uncertainty as to whether they should be advancing on the mage, or falling on the killer who had appeared so abruptly. That confusion spelled their downfall; Anders and Isabela hesitated not at all.
They attacked from both directions, smooth and coordinated with the practice of many battles fought side by side. Fenris watched them butcher their way through Danarius' henchmen with a numb disbelief; so slow were his thoughts to catch up to the situation that it did not occur to him to help until all of their enemies were dead.
He was still staring, forgetting to blink or even breathe, when a familiar face filled his vision. Fenris started back, remembering to breathe at last -- and promptly starting to hyperventilate. Blue lights still licked along the edges of his jaw and pooled in his eyes, before disappearing into a concerned frown that wrinkled his brow.
Anders' hands on his shoulders pulled him into a sitting position, then moved over his head and neck and back, checking for injuries in a practiced manner. His scowl deepened when he found the places where the manacles had chafed Fenris' skin raw; healing magic welled from his fingers, but the relief was only temporary while the heavy metal continued to cut into healed skin.
"Isabela," Anders called over his shoulder, to where Isabela was looting the corpses with practiced efficiency. "Can you open these?"
"Sure thing, Anders. You do your thing and I'll do mine." Isabela actually stopped mid-loot and came over to the two of them, crouching in the dust of the road as lockpicks appeared in her dexterous fingers like magic. She worked open first one lock, then another, a frown growing on her full lips as she peered into Fenris' face. "What's wrong with him?"
Anders placed a hand on his forehead and tipped his head up to the light, looking intently into his eyes and feeling the sweat-beaded skin. "Drugged, I think," he said. "Fermented blood lotus, by these symptoms. He'll be all right after a night's sleep."
Isabela made a disgusted noise, her face twisting. "Drowned man's lullaby," she said. "Old slaver trick, to keep cargo docile in the hold."
"Docile. Not a word I ever thought I'd associate with Fenris," Anders said sarcastically, and Isabela slapped the side of his head, though not as hard as Fenris would have. "Ow! Do you mind?"
At last Fenris found his words. "You came for me..." he said, his voice faltering and sticking in his throat.
"I gambled and lost my captaincy once already because I couldn't abide slavery, Fenris," Isabela said quietly. "And that was for a lot of strangers. I could hardly do less for a friend, now could I?"
Anders paused, hand still on his forehead. A flicked of blue played in the depths of his eyes. "Justice has some very strong objections to slavery. He would never have rested if you were taken." He hesitated a moment before adding, "And neither could I."
"But you..." Fenris shook his head, feeling his limbs and muscles quiver. "You hate me. And I can't stand you."
"I don't like you very much most of the time either, true. But that's not the point," Anders said with a scowl. "I wouldn't condemn my worst enemy to a life of slavery, let alone a friend. Damn, Fenris, after six years in Kirkwall together I thought you would have understood that!"
"I…" Fenris swallowed, at a loss for words. He'd never considered Anders a friend, nor thought the mage considered him one. They worked together, protected each other, even passed time together when nothing else was pressing -- but Anders couldn't have been a friend, because he was nothing like Hawke.
The truth was that he had measured all other friendships by the yardstick of Hawke; how much like Hawke they were, how closely their treatment of him echoed her. She was his friend, he had reasoned, and deduced out from there that that was how friendship was practiced. He'd never had any other friends; how else could he have known?
"Touching declarations of friendship aside," Isabela said dryly, "I think we should take this reunion elsewhere. We need to make camp if Fenris is going to get his good night's sleep, and I don't want to do it in the open road surrounded by corpses. Corpses put me off my feed."
"Right." Anders nodded. "Back to that overlook, then?"
The two of them helped him to his feet; he almost stumbled, walking without the unbalancing weight of the manacles. Isabela's arm slung about his waist supported him, and Anders' hand on his shoulder guided him, pressing him to a stop for a moment as they stood in front of Danarius.
"Anything you need to do here?" Anders said quietly. "Take a token, piss on his face, anything? Something that will prove to you later on that it wasn't a dream, that you know for sure that he's dead?"
And Fenris was dizzied by the sudden moment of sympathy, of mutual understanding. How did Anders know? "No," he choked out, after a moment's consideration. "Just… just burn it all."
Anders nodded, and Isabela slipped from his side for a few minutes work of dragging the bodies into a pile. The three of them retreated down the road to a safe distance, and then Anders raised his hand and called down fire.
Fenris watched for several minutes, until the brightness made his eyes burn. "Thank you," he said softly, and Anders nodded.
The campsite they guided him to was well sheltered, and Fenris' hard-won survival skills approved; there was a raised earth ridge and a screen of trees to shelter them from view, but they could see over the edge of the steep hillside down to the road where it wound between the hills. In the other direction they had a clear view right down to the harbor and the water beyond, now fading from sight in the failing light.
There was a horse, and a tent, and a scant set of cooking gear, but little else; Anders and Isabela had been traveling light. The two of them steered him to a seat in front of the firepit; Anders relit the fire while Isabela pulled the blanket from the tent to drape over him. At any other time Fenris would have bridled at the coddling, but now he huddled into the warmth gratefully. He owed them a debt he could never repay; he would not insult them by scorning their kindness now.
"How did you get here so fast?" he asked, once the fire was roaring and water was heating over it; for stew or for tea, he wasn't yet sure.
"Thank Betsy here for that," Anders replied, jerking a thumb at the horse. "Also thank the Warden-Commander for making me learn how to ride, back in Amaranthine. Where Izzy learned, I don't know."
Isabela smirked at him. "If I could ride my first husband's mood swings," she said, "I've yet to meet any horse that can throw me."
Anders rolled his eyes. "It was actually Varric who got us the horse -- how he found it on such short notice I don't know," he said. "Isabela got the ship's manifest out of the dockmaster, so we knew where you were headed and approximately when you'd get there. Still, we almost killed poor Betsy getting over the passes in such a hurry."
Isabela pursed her lips. "I'm still not sure how we didn't," she admitted. "I've seen horses founded under less."
Anders smirked. "Healer, remember?" he said, wiggling his fingers. "There are advantages to having a mage along."
"There are that," Isabela agreed. "Without your little anti-magic runes, I never would have gotten close enough to that blowhard to sink the knife in."
Anders shook his head in disbelief. "I still can't believe they were obliging enough to walk right over them!" he exclaimed. "Your placement was exactly right."
"Thank y --" Fenris said, breaking into their mutual self-congratulations. His voice faltered, failed through the second word. He cleared his throat, then tried again. "Thank you. Thank you both. I owe you… my freedom, most likely my life. Certainly any part of it that's worth living."
Anders turned to look at him, meeting his gaze for a long moment; there was another flicker of blue in those eyes, but Fenris was not frightened of Justice any more, not after the demon had stood for him against Danarius. "Thank all of you," he added, and Anders relaxed and nodded his thanks.
Isabela smiled. "You're welcome, sweet thing," she said. "And we'd do it again."
He didn't doubt they would. "You said Varric helped you, helped you get the horse. Did -- anyone else in Kirkwall aid you in this? Did… did…"
Anders and Isabela exchanged a glance. "Merrill offered to come, but the horse couldn't have carried three," he said quietly.
"Aveline sent well-wishes, but she wouldn't leave the city," Isabela said. Her voice was soft, her eyes sympathetic. "Donnic, too. That's all, I'm afraid."
"Did -- did Hawke…" The name died in his throat; he knew it was foolish, but a part of him still couldn't help clinging to hope. Maybe there had been some mistake; maybe Hawke had had a change of heart and had tried to make up for it. Maybe…
"When I left the Hanged Man, Hawke was already drinking her way through the money that magister gave her," Isabela said, contempt thick in her voice.
Anders shook his head. "Hawke has been in a downward spiral ever since Leandra died. Going the way of her uncle Gamlen, drinking and gambling her way through her fortune. It's like a disease, that addiction to drink." His voice took on an acid tinge. "I'd have helped her if I could, but she made it clear she didn't want any help from the likes of me."
Fenris dropped his head into his hands, his eyes beginning to prickle and burn. "I... I always thought that if anyone would fight for me, it would be Hawke," he said, voice shaking. "If Hawke didn't, then who would? If Hawke didn't…"
Isabela sat down beside him, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. He flinched away from the contact, then leaned into it, helpless in the face of her sympathy. The shock was finally beginning to release him, of his capture and subsequent rescue, but that just left room for the overpowering anger and grief to creep in, seizing his chest and flooding his head.
It was humiliating to weep like a child, especially in front of Anders; but what did he have left to lose? Who did he have left in the world except these two? He'd pinned everything he'd had on Hawke; he'd admired her, followed her, loved her. But she had betrayed him, his own sister had betrayed him; he'd been saved by the man he thought hated him and the woman he thought cared for no one but herself. Every expectation in his life had been upended. A mage and a non-mage had betrayed him, and a mage and a non-mage had rescued him. Danarius was gone, and so was Hawke. There was nothing left to flee from, and nothing left to go back to.
He felt Anders sit down at his side, and on the other side of him Isabela leaned in, pressing her soft body against his. The pair of them bracketed him, held him, comforted and protected him, and he could do nothing but lose himself to them. A part of him, buried and smothered under a lifetime of brutalization, yearned towards the contact with a strange familiarity. He couldn't remember his mother, but he felt sure that this warmth, this softness, this comfort was what it must have felt like, once. He didn't think he'd ever known his father, but this strength, this protectiveness, surely that was what such a man ought to be like.
At length the storm quieted, the tears dried and the shaking ceased. He felt ravaged, but also clean, like a hurricane storm had come through and scoured out his insides. Isabela was swaying slightly, humming some sea shanty tune; Anders reached forward to stir something, and came back with a mug of steaming hot tea.
"I don't know what to do," Fenris admitted at last, in a broken voice. "I… I never planned for this, expected this. What do I do now? Where can I go?"
"You know, we've got a horse and a boat," Isabela said encouragingly, "so it's more a matter of where can't you go, if you put your mind to it. I guess the question is, where do you want to go? Home? Back to Kirkwall?"
Fenris shook his head. "Kirkwall is no longer my home." It came out rough, painful, but true. Danarius' mansion had never been a home to him, and the rest of the city would be forever tainted by Hawke's betrayal. "Anywhere. Anywhere but there."
"Well, I'm game," the pirate said cheerfully. "And may I remind you once again, Danarius had a boat. A boat that is now ours, according to the sacred laws of the sea."
"What law of the sea is that?" Anders said, sounding amused.
"If we kill them, we get to keep their stuff!" Isabela quipped, and Anders chuckled. Then she sobered. "There's nothing to keep me in Kirkwall either, not now that Castillon is dead and the Qunari are dealt with. If I've got a ship, I can go anywhere. Assuming I've got a crew to go with me."
Fenris nodded, feeling relieved. That was a plan, a way forward, even if it was an unfamiliar one. "Will that be enough of a crew?" he asked.
Isabela shrugged. "I guess that depends," she said. "On whether Anders plans to go back to Kirkwall, himself."
Fenris thought that was likely. Anders had his clinic, and the Mage Underground that the rest of them weren't supposed to know about. Although from what he'd heard that had been dismantled, mostly, by a push from Knight-Captain Cullen and Meredith. Surely the mage would --
"I'm in," Anders said unexpectedly. Both of the others looked at him in surprise.
"Really?" Isabela said. "I thought you were all-in for your grand cause. Body and spirit."
Anders shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "I guess… I still am?" he said. "I still believe the mages deserve freedom. I still want to work towards that. But… Kirkwall's a lost cause, I see that now. The Knight-Commander is insane and the Grand Cleric is worse than useless. I'm not going to get any traction there. As hard as it is to look at all the blood and sweat I've poured into that pit of a city… I think it's time to walk away. Try again, somewhere else, somewhere where there's still hope of making a difference."
"You… seemed very set on your course, in Kirkwall," Fenris said cautiously. Personally he thought that Anders had been irrationally obsessed, but the last thing he wanted was to stir up old fights.
"Yes, I suppose I was." Anders blinked. There was a strange look on his face, uncertain, almost lost. "I… I don't really remember, any more, why it seemed so important that I stay in Kirkwall, that I see it through there and nowhere else. It made sense at the time… I guess? I'm not really sure. When I think back on it, it… it was like I was walking through a fog. Breathing in chokedamp. Now that I'm further away, I can… see clearly again.
"I want to keep trying. But somewhere else," he said firmly, the set of his jaw determined. "I still believe that I can make a difference, find a peaceful way to change people's minds. But not in Kirkwall."
Isabela let out a cheer that rang the air of the dell. She punched the air in a victory gesture that made the rest of her bounce. "Yes! Years ago I tried to get Sparklefingers the mage as a part of my crew and now, finally, finally I've done it!"
"Funny how fate turns, isn't it?" Anders said wryly, his smile a bit shaky.
Isabela ignored the quip as she lurched forward, dragging Fenris along in an embrace that encompassed all three of them. She hugged them tight, planting a sloppy kiss on Anders' cheek, then on Isabela's."Just look at us now," she crowed. "A warrior, a rogue, and a mage. A classic team of adventurers!"
"An escaped slave, a wanted pirate, and a possessed apostate, you mean," Anders muttered. "More like a classic passel of criminals."
"A ship, a fortune in coin, and an open sea," Isabela continued, her enthusiasm undimmed. She turned towards the edge of the overlook, where the horizon faded into the darkening water. "Gentlemen, the world will be our oyster!"
Anders laughed and hugged Isabela back, pulling Fenris along for the embrace. And Fenris had to admit -- in the slowly warming pieces of his shattered heart -- that he didn't mind the closeness. No, he didn't mind it at all.
"Well then, gentlemen," Isabela said, standing up and brushing off her leggings. She reached out a hand and pulled Anders to his feet, his lanky height contrasting with her generous curves. "Shall we be about it?"
The two of them shared a smile, and without a word they each extended a hand to him, one fair, one dark. Fenris looked up at them both, and felt the same smile starting on his own lips.
He took their hands, and together they raised him up.
~the end.