Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For to be free is not merely to cast off one's chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others. (Nelson Mandela)

 “Your nephew is indeed talented, Magister Aielus. I owe him my life.” Danarius bows slightly, though he does not stand from his seat. 

“The boy does have a gift like few others.” Anders hears his uncle say, but hardly pays attention to the formalities. If it was up to him, he would have let the man die in the first place. 

His uncle doesn’t care for Danarius any more than he does, but there is political opportunity in having a Magister indebted to you, even someone of minor importance. Danarius is rich, and his experiment did earn him some admiration from scholars, but he is not nearly as powerful as he likes to believe. 

His experiment is standing behind his chair, head lowered and hands crossed behind his back, lyrium drawn in fine lines on his skin. It makes Anders’ stomach turn. 

“A fine young man indeed.” Danarius grins tiredly, turning his gaze to Anders. “Tell me, serah Anders - what would you have as a reward for your services?” 

Uncle Cassius’ posture doesn’t change, but Anders knows he glances in his direction. They have discussed this, the payment. Anders doesn’t bother smiling back at the man as he nods in the slave’s direction. 

“I would have him.” 

There is a long, tense pause. Danarius carefully schools his expression into something akin to polite surprise, but his shoulders are set in anger. 

“A bold request. Fenris is my most prized possession.” 

Anders bites his tongue and is glad his uncle replies for him. 

“I would remind you, Magister, that the boy is within his rights. He gave back your life, and now he asks for another. Your slave did fail to protect you - would you still hold on to him against the law?” 

Fenris, who has been standing perfectly still up to this very moment, flinches slightly. Anders holds back his anger and waits. They all know Danarius’ hands are bound - Imperium law demands that he pays the price Anders sets, and he does not have the influence to turn the Magisterium in his favour. 

“Very well.” He spits out finally, not bothering to hide his glare. “Take him if you wish. I thank you for your services, serah, and request that you leave.” 

Anders bows slightly, but does not hide his grin. He can hear his uncle sighing in his head. “Of course, Magister. Do call for me if you need anything.” 

“A pleasure, Magister. We will send the required documents your way.” Cassius bows politely, then gestures to the slave, who still hasn’t moved. “Come, then. We shall leave.” 

Fenris doesn’t move, instead glancing nervously at Danarius. “Master-” 

“Do not challenge me, slave.” Danarius snaps angrily. “Go.” 

Fenris flinches, but lowers his head and follows them out of the room. 

“This crusade of yours will get you killed still,” Cassius growls quietly at Anders, glancing over his shoulder at the slave. “Danarius will not let this go.” 

Anders scoffs. “Danarius is a sadistic prick, but he’s cornered. We just took the only thing that gave him any power because of a sloppy deal. If anything, he will lose influence.” 

“He won’t go through legal methods, Anders.” 

“What, he’ll send assassins and then try to illegally reclaim his slave? He can get in line.” 

Cassius sighs, but doesn’t argue. 

“Welcome home, messere.” Orana bows slightly when he enters. She sends Fenris a curious glance, but doesn’t comment. “Would you like me to prepare a bath?” 

Anders sighs. “Well, at least you don’t call me ‘Master’ anymore. I’ve told you, though - you don’t have to tend to my every need, Orana. You’re not a slave anymore.” 

“I’m already done with my duties, messere.” 

“Then go rest. I’ll call for you if I need anything.” She bows again before leaving the room, and Anders turns to face the other elf. “Right. Fenris, is it?” 

“Yes, Master.” He still hasn’t looked up from the floor, and his voice is deep and tense. 

Anders sighs again. “Alright, first things first. Please don’t call me Master - my name is Anders, you can call me that. Secondly, I won’t be mad or hurt you if you look me in the eye. In fact, I’d appreciate it.” 

Fenris does look up - it is a quick glance, but better than nothing. “Yes, Anders.” 

He sounds like he has to rip the word from his throat, but Anders hopes it will get easier with time. 

“Thank you.” The mage says, not surprised when Fenris looks even more uncomfortable. Slaves don’t expect thanks. “I’m going to touch you now. Please stay still.” 

Fenris doesn’t flinch, but he does hold his breath as Anders carefully unclasps his collar, then mutters a few curses before burning it in his hand. 

“Well,” He rubs the ashes from his hands, smiling tightly. “That’s better. Follow me.” 

He leads them into the bathroom, where the bathtub waits already filled. Anders sighs - Orana. He channels some magic to heat the water, then turns back around to face Fenris. 

“Please, take off your clothes.” 

This time, the elf does tense visibly, but hesitates for barely a moment before complying. Anders notices a certain discomfort in his movements and frowns. There is a large bruise on his side, and Anders could bet there are broken ribs under it. He moves forward, trying his best to be gentle even as Fenris flinches again and anger boils in his veins. 

“Don’t be afraid. I’m just going to heal you.” The mage lays a hand over the bruise gently, focusing until it fades under his touch, the elf’s ribs cracking under the skin as they snap back into place. Anders knows it is painful, but Fenris doesn’t make a single noise of discomfort. Something still feels off, so he goes around the slave to take a look at his back and stops with a sharp intake of breath. 

Fenris’ back is covered in whip lashes, red and angry looking. They haven’t been cleaned properly either, if at all - dried blood has caked on the skin in several places, and Anders swears. 

“Sadistic piece of shit.” He grumbles, throwing in a few choice words in Ander, and barely notices how tense Fenris’ muscles are as he leans forward to examine the wounds. “That’s just asking for an infection. If only I had let the filthy bastard die when I had the chance.” He breathes deeply, trying to swallow his anger as he addresses Fenris again. “I have to get these cleaned before I can heal them. Can you sit by the bathtub for me?” 

He can’t tell whether the stiffness in Fenris’ movements is from pain or pure tension, but hopes, perhaps with rather excessive optimism, that he can help with both. 

The elf sits at the edge of the bathtub, his back to Anders the whole time. The mage digs into a basket for a clean washcloth and makes sure the water isn’t too hot before soaking it in, wringing out the excess and touching it to the wounds gently. Fenris doesn’t make a sound, but Anders can practically feel him consciously keeping himself from flinching away. 

“Relax.” He says, healer training kicking in as he washes off the dried blood carefully. He’d normally use magic by this point, warm, calming energy, but he doubts it would make the elf any less uneasy, so instead he tries to soothe him with his voice. “I know it hurts, but I really need you to stay still for this.” 

Fenris’ shoulders drop no more than a fraction of an inch, but Anders has learned to take his victories where he can. The wounds aren’t particularly deep, though they sure look painful. With how little meat Fenris has got in him he’d been half-worried they had sunk to the bone. 

He wrings out the cloth again, this time over a chamber pot, before repeating the process. The amount of blood loss isn’t worrying, he decides. At most, Fenris will be feeling a little light-headed, though that too should diminish with the pain. 

Once the wounds are properly cleaned, he sets the cloth aside and holds his hands just over the elf’s back. “I’m going to heal these now. Try to relax.” 

It’s not particularly draining work, but it is delicate. He has to make sure he applies the right amount of magic to the right places to avoid an infection as there is dead tissue inside. Simply closing them off could have pretty nasty results. He’s also trying to make his magic as soft as he possibly can even as tries to dull the pain, which makes his fingers tremble a little. He knows of Danarius’ reputation, knows the basics about the ritual he performed to brand his slave in lyrium, and he wouldn’t be surprised if magic frightened the elf. 

The gashes gradually close under his hands, and he examines Fenris’ back once more before nodding. 

“All done. They will most likely be sore for a while, but they shouldn’t sting. If they do, or if you feel light-headed, nauseous or feverish, tell me immediately. I’m not taking any chances with possible infections.” There is a long pause, and Anders frowns. “Fenris? Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Anders.” 

“Right. Well, that’s good.” He rubs his forehead. Probably taught not to speak unless asked a direct question. Anders stands and moves around Fenris, trying to look him in the eye. “Answer me this, and please don’t lie to me. Are you in any pain right now?” 

There’s the slightest hint of hesitation before an answer comes. “It is sore, but it does not sting, Anders.” 

Satisfied, Anders nods. “Good. You can get in the bathtub now.” Fenris does so, and Anders only sees the vaguest signs of pain when he moves the muscles of his back. If the wounds haven’t closed properly, the warm water will make it worse. “Still no stinging?” 

“No, Anders.” 

“Good. You should be fine.” He kneels next to the tub, offering Fenris a clean washcloth and some soap. The slave glances briefly at him - a small, surprised little thing - before looking down again and taking them. “Listen, I know this is all very weird and overwhelming. I’m trying to make it as easy as possible, I promise. I won’t hurt you.” There is no answer, but Anders doesn’t expect one. Instead, he stands. “I’ll leave you to wash and dry yourself. Would you like some clean clothes?” 

“No, Anders. Thank you, Anders.” 

Anders nods. Some prefer to cling to what they have because it gives them a sense of comfort, small and twisted as it may be. He forces a smile. “You know, ‘Anders’ isn’t a substitute for ‘Master’. It’s my name. You don’t have to say it every time you address me. Meet me in the main hall when you’re ready.” 

Fenris frowns slightly, as if he cannot wrap his head around it, but says nothing as Anders turns and leaves. 

One of the younger boys comes to Anders while he waits bowed over his studies. 

“Excuse me, messere. Magister Cassius requests your presence for dinner.” 

Anders sighs. “Tell him I’m not hungry. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t actually expect me to come.” 

“He thought you would say that, messere. He told me to bring you food and ask that you eat.” The boy walks over to the table, putting down a plate of bread, olives, cheese and honey. Another plate is set down containing apples and grapes, and finally a bottle of wine. Anders looks up at the boy. He is the son of one of his uncle’s cooks, barely more than a child and skinny as a twig. 

“Sorrian, is it?” The boy nods, sending the food a fleeting glance. Anders smiles. “Have you eaten yet?” A headshake this time, and Anders hums, piling up food on a thick slice of bread before handing it over to the lad. “There you go. Send my regards to your mother and tell her I’ll be over tomorrow.” 

The boy smiles so wide Anders can see the gap where one of his teeth has recently fallen off. “Thank you, messere. Maker bless you.” 

The mage chuckles as he scurries off, still smiling, then sighs. He stretches on his chair, then pauses as he turns his head this way and that to try and smooth out the kinks on his neck. 

Fenris is standing by the doorway, sporting an even more confused frown than earlier. He schools his expression back into neutrality when he catches Anders looking, then bows before entering the room. 

“You don’t have to do that.” Anders tells him absentmindedly, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Have a seat.” 

The hesitation stretches this time, long and tense, before Fenris carefully lowers himself on the chair. Anders smiles, pushing the plates towards him. 

“Help yourself to anything you’d like. I’m really not hungry.” 

Fenris blinks, and stares, and Anders has barely a moment to feel hopeful and proud before he lowers his head again. 

“No, thank you, Anders.” He mutters, and tenses as if he expects a blow to come. He probably does. The mage sighs. 

“I told you, I’m not going to hurt you. Please eat something, Fenris.” 

Slowly, tentatively, the elf reaches out and picks up an apple. Anders smiles. 

“Feel free to take anything you want. I don’t know what you like, but we’ll go to the kitchens tomorrow and you can tell Shaeren and Orana if it’d make you feel more comfortable.” Anders isn’t expecting an answer anytime soon, so he keeps talking. It’s no hardship either, if he’s being honest. He’s always been talkative to a fault. “They’re in the main house, the kitchens are. You must have seen it when we crossed the gardens - this here is supposed to be a guest house, but I run my clinic here. And sleep here, most of the time. It’s easier that way. Do you know anything about healing, Fenris?” 

The slave, and Anders would love to add the word former before slave, swallows his bite of apple before answering. “No, Anders.” 

“Ah, well, it’s no problem.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Orana helps me with that - mostly just fetching bandages and potions and making sure everything is clean. Shaeren sometimes brings me food because she insists I am way too thin. That was her son, the boy who was just here. I’m pretty sure my uncle had very little to do with sending me food.” He leans over with a smirk. “Don’t tell her I didn’t eat anything or she’ll scold me until my ears bleed.” 

Fenris stares at him and seems too stunned to remember to look down again. Anders smiles, and takes the moment to push the plate further into his reach. 

“Have another apple.” 

He does. 

It becomes quite easy after that - distract Fenris enough that he keeps eating, even if Anders has to push a little here and there, and soon enough the plates are empty and he has even managed to get a few gulps of wine into the elf. Once done, Fenris blinks down at the empty dishes as if he can’t figure out how they got that way. 

“Well,” Anders smiles, standing. “I think it’s about time we went to bed. I’m quite tired, to be honest. Oh, no, no, leave them.” He adds when Fenris starts gathering the plates. “I’ll take them to the kitchens tomorrow. We’re going upstairs.” 

Fenris follows him silently, head lowered once more. Anders stops himself from sighing. He should be used to this by now, to how slow the process is, but it is always tiring and slightly painful. He gestures to the doors as they pass them. 

“This here is a storage room, then the study and my room.” He keeps walking and opens the next door, gesturing inside. “And this is yours. Orana’s room is just down the hall - you can ask me or her if you need anything. She’s usually up before dawn, Maker only knows why, so if you get a sudden urge to clean as the sun rises you should definitely go to her. Any questions?” 

He turns, and Fenris looks absolutely dumbfounded. Most slaves are shocked to have a room of their own in the same house as their master, as much as Anders hates being thought of in those terms, but Fenris looks like this is a completely foreign concept to him and Anders feels his heart sink. Bed slave. 

“I- this is mine?” The elf is apparently confused enough to forget about his fear for a moment - Anders doubts it could be wiped off this soon. Still, it could be a good sign. 

“Yes.” He replies, as gently as he can possibly manage. “Is there a problem, Fenris?” 

He bloody well knows there is, and it’s the twisted concept of society Tevinter has. But this, right now, is about Fenris, and he needs to hear it. 

“It is my duty to protect and please you, Master.” Fenris replies slowly, and Anders chest tightens. Ah. There it is. “I fear I cannot do that if I am not with you.” 

He wants to scream, wants to march right back to Danarius’ estate and kill him as slowly and painfully as he possibly can, wants to tear down the Imperium’s depraved laws with his bare hands. That part never gets any easier.  

“I doubt there are any great dangers beyond my bedroom’s doors, Fenris.” Gentle, be gentle. It is not his fault. “And you are under no obligation to please me. But if you wish to look at it this way, it pleases me to have you safe and comfortable.” The elf stares at him like he cannot possibly understand, and Anders knows he can’t. Not really. Not yet. And it feels like nothing he does will ever be enough because for every one he tries to save there are a thousand more out there who never knew kindness. Who probably never will. “Sleep, Fenris. I’ll be just next door. Rest assured that I can yell loud enough that you will know if I’m in trouble.” 

He leaves, and tries not to collapse until he’s safely inside his room.

Chapter Text

The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion. (Albert Camus)

“Messere?” Orana’s voice is soft, sweet as honey. “Messere, you’ve fallen asleep in your daywear again.” 

Anders stirs, groaning as he forces his eyes open. Orana is standing by his bed, and she must have taken his boots off at some point because he sure didn’t. 

“You have patients, messere. And the new brother won’t leave your doorstep - he seems very worried.” 

Orana’s need to refer to the other servants as family members is bittersweet, Anders thinks idly as he sits up, rubbing his face. 

“Maker, but I’m exhausted. What time is it?” 

“Just past nine, messere. You were still up when I awoke - I could hear you pacing. You’ve barely slept.” 

“Please don’t tell Shaeren.” He half-jokes, gratefully accepting the glass of water she holds out for him. 

“She already came to check on you, messere. Wanted to know if you ate the food she sent last night, she did. She was very pleased with the empty plates, but wanted to know if you gave any of it away.” 

“I didn’t.” He lies. “How is Fenris?” 

Orana frowns in concern. “He won’t eat anything, messere. Shaeren even pulled her glare on him, but he just stands by your door. I don’t think he slept either.” 

Anders sighs. “Right. I’ll be right down, just let me-” 

“Anders? Are you in there? Wakey-wakey, lazy!” 

He half-groans, half-chuckles. “When you said patients, I didn’t think you meant Hawke.” 

“Messere Hawke asked me to wake you.” Orana smiles fondly. “She brought me a gift from the South - a very pretty necklace.” 

There’s a commotion outside his door and Anders frowns, standing. He yanks the door open to find Hawke with her hands in the air, palms turned out as if to show she means no harm, but Anders knows it still enables her to reach her daggers in a hurry. Fenris is standing with his back to the door, one hand on his sword. 

“Whoa there!” Hawke smirks. “Let’s not be hasty, yeah? I’m a friend.” 

Fenris just growls low in his throat. From beside Hawke, her mabari answers in kind, baring his teeth. Anders would laugh at the similarity if it wouldn’t be so poorly timed. Instead he gently brings a hand to touch the elf’s shoulder. 

“Fenris. It’s fine.” 

Slowly, Fenris’ hand loosens on the hilt, his arm coming down to his side though his body is still tense. Hawke raises an eyebrow at him. 

“And here I thought Anders put me in enough life-threatening situations down South. Boy, was I wrong.” 

“There you go again with your whining.” Anders jokes, stepping around Fenris so he can stand between the two and greet his friend. “I didn’t even know you were back.” 

She glances at Fenris, then seems to decide it is safe enough to step forward and hug Anders. 

“You know I don’t mess around.” She replies, letting go with a pat to his arm. He raises an eyebrow at her. “Alright, fine. Not with this, at least. Everyone on the list you gave me is dealt with, slaves freed and reallocated, everything done and done.” 

“So you came all the way here just to see me?” Anders grins. “I’m touched.” 

“Oh, stop it, you. You’re making me blush.” She smiles right back. “I tagged along on Isabela’s ship. She’s stopping by later.” 

“Isabela is here?” Anders asks, starting down the hall so he can get downstairs, Hawke by his side. He’s not surprised when Fenris follows a few steps behind. “What is she up to this time?” 

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say smuggling. I had forgotten how much I hate Tevinter.” Hawke raises an eyebrow at him pointedly, though her grin doesn’t fade. “You should come back with me, Anders.” 

“And be locked in one of the South’s little mage prisons for the rest of my life? No, thank you.” 

“My family has quite the tradition in hiding apostates. I’m pretty sure I could convince a templar the sky is actually green.” 

“I have work to do here still, Hawke.” 

She sighs, but nods. “I know. I’m worried about you, is all. You can’t change everything, Anders. Even you must know that.” 

He knows. But he can’t just do nothing. 

Shaeren is waiting downstairs beside piles of food, arms crossed and frowning. Anders tries to appease her with a smile. 

“Good morning, Shaeren.” 

“Do not ‘good morning’ me, young man.” She scolds. “You haven’t slept and I know you gave my boy some of the food I sent last night. How many times must I tell you you cannot heal people if you’re walking around half-dead?” 

Anders opens his mouth to defend himself, but there is no way he can get a word in while Shaeren continues her motherly ramble. Beside him, Hawke chuckles and Fenris looks confusedly between him and the elderly elf. 

“And you,” She turns on Fenris, who frowns. “I know Anders gave you food last night, but that doesn’t mean you no longer need to eat. All skin and bones and you’re supposed to be a bodyguard? Maker, it’s like having yet another stubborn lad to raise!” It’s Anders turn to chuckle as Fenris turns indignant eyes on him. “Sit down and eat right now, both of you.” 

She glares until they both comply, Fenris a lot more slowly than Anders, then sighs. “I’ll send my lad to pick up the plates in an hour or so. Your uncle has left on business but insists that you join him for supper.” 

“I’ll be there.” Anders smiles. “Thank you, Shaeren.” 

She nods and smiles back briefly before turning on her heel to go back to the main house. Hawke awaits until she is safely out of hearing range before dropping down on a chair next to Anders and chuckling. 

“And I though my mother was strict.” 

“She’s not my mother.” Anders says as he pushes a patle in Fenris’ direction. “Though I am almost completely sure they have been exchanging letters behind my back.” 

Hawke hums in amusement. “Do you have anything for her, by the way? I could make a quick trip to the Anderfells on my way back.” 

“I would love to know how she’s doing, if you could. I do miss her.” He replies, and firmly ignores the knot in his throat. He’s sure Hawke notices how tight his voice is, but she only mutters a gentle confirmation before digging into some bread. Fenris is frowning down at his own plate, not eating, so Anders raises an eyebrow at him. “Everything alright?” 

“Yes, Anders.” He mutters, finally reaching for an apple. Anders is starting to see a pattern. 

“Don’t be so shocked, sweetheart.” Hawke grins knowingly. “Everyone yells at Anders around here.” 

“It’s like that’s all I’m here for.” Anders mock-sighs, but Hawke ignores him, eyes still on Fenris. 

“You’re a right fierce little thing, aren’t you? I like that. Were you trained as a warrior, then?” 

“Yes, messere.” 

“I would like to meet your old master.” Hawke glances pointedly at Anders. Beside her, the dog whines pleadingly, and she rolls her eyes before feeding him a piece of bread. “I’m pretty sure I’ve heard of him before.” 

“Hawke.” Anders cuts in warningly. “Not now.” 

“Fine. We will discuss my very friendly visit to Danarius later.” 

“There will be no visiting. Please drop it.” 

“Oh, someone will be visiting soon enough.” She arches a meaningful eyebrow at him, holding out a piece of cheese to the mabari. 

“We will deal with that later.” 

“Do as you wish, Anders.” She sighs, slumping back against her chair. “But know that I am not leaving until this is settled.” 

Beside him, Fenris has stopped eating again, throwing them subtle but curious glances. Anders pushes the plate to him once more. “Eat, Fenris. You will need the energy.” 

Hawke leaves after breakfast, saying she intends on hitting up some old friends and will be back by nightfall. Anders is left with patients to tend to and a silent elf that follows him around like a shadow. It’s a little unnerving, but Anders can hardly blame him. 

There are no emergencies or serious injuries today, only bumps and bruises and the odd sniffle. Most of his patients are elves, free or otherwise, and soporati who live inches above slavery, and Anders finds these are the people he wants to help most. Definitely not people like Danarius. 

The worst case is a broken arm, and the boy whines as Anders presses gently on it, trying to feel where the bone has cracked. 

“Sorry.” He mutters soothingly. “You’ll feel better soon, I promise.” He looks over his shoulder for Orana, who is busy cleaning out one of the cots, and sighs. “Fenris? Would you mind helping me with something?” 

“Yes, Anders?” The elf inquires, voice low and eyes on the ground. 

“I need a pain tonic - it’s over there on the shelf, the green bottle. Could you get it for me, please?” 

Fenris bows slightly and doesn’t reply as he moves to fetch the tonic, holding it out for Anders. 

“Thank you.” The mage smiles, taking the vial and uncapping it. “Did you happen to see how many I have left?” 

“Three, Anders.” 

He sighs, holding out the vial so the boy can take a few sips. “I’ll need to refill that tonight. Slow sips, now. I’ll let it set in a bit before I fix your arm, it will dull the pain.” 

“Thank you, messere.” The boy’s mother answers for him, trying not to fret as she stands next to the cot. Anders tries to reassure her with a smile before bringing both hands to the boy’s arm and focusing. The bone snaps into place under his palms, and the boy hisses but doesn’t move. 

“There you go, all done. You’re quite the brave lad, aren’t you?” He smiles, ruffling the young boy’s hair gently. “Just try not to fall off any more trees.” 

“Yes, messere.” 

Anders nods and turns, stretching. Fenris is staring at him, but looks down the moment he turns. 

“I assume this is all quite boring to you, isn’t it?” Anders tries. “Standing around and occasionally fetching potions. You can take a break if you’d like.” 

“No, Anders.” 

“I don’t mind, honestly.” He insists, partly because this is all really uncomfortable and partly because he thinks a break will help Fenris realize he doesn’t have to act like a slave anymore. “This is quite a slow day. If you want to stay here, I have some books you can read - you don’t have to follow me around.” 

There is a pause, then Fenris mutters in a strained voice. “I do not know how to read, Anders.” 

Of course he doesn’t. Anders feels like kicking himself. Preferably over Danarius’ corpse. 

“Oh. I’m sorry. I, um.” Orana. Orana was a lot like him when she first came, minus the lyrium brands and the growling. Maybe she can help. “You could help Orana clean up, then? If you don’t mind.” 

Fenris bows again, then turns to find the other elf. 

After supper, Anders sits Fenris down at his dining table and drops a pile of books on it. The elf blinks at him, clearly confused. 

“Would you like to learn to read, Fenris?” 

“I-” He swallows, then nods. “Yes, Anders.” 

The mage smiles, arming himself of quill and paper as he sits down. He draws carefully on the paper in big letters, then points to the symbols. “This is your name. Fenris.” 

The elf seem fascinated as he reaches over to trace the lines, quickly taking his hand back when the ink smudges under his touch. Anders chuckles at his bewilderment and starts on the letters. 

It is hard work, but Anders never thought any of this would be easy. He can be patient, but he is no teacher, and it is difficult to make up for an entire life with no formal education. Still, Fenris is smart and dedicated, even though he sometimes frowns at the paper so hard Anders fears he might take out his greatsword and split the whole table in half out of frustration. 

“You’re doing fine.” He reassures with a smile, giving Fenris the time to figure out the symbols on his own before he swoops in. He’s pretty sure he sees the shadow of a smile on the elf’s face at one time, and it makes his chest flutter with hope. 

“Hey, what’s this?” Hawke interrupts the concentrated silence as she walks in, smile wide and knuckles bruised. “Please tell me you’re not making him read your manifesto.” 

Anders rolls his eyes even as he takes her hands in his to remove her gloves. “I’m teaching him, Hawke. Maker, did you punch a wall or something?” 

She hums amusedly, flexing her fingers. “He was quite thick-skulled, but I wouldn’t go quite that far.” 

“Festis bei umo canavarum.” Anders mutters, carefully healing the bruised skin. No broken bones. That’s something, at least. 

“You say that to me a lot and I still don’t know what it means.” She sighs, dropping down heavily on a chair. “You always sound pissed, though, so I’ll assume you’re swearing. Please remember to apologize to my mother for whatever you’re saying about her.” 

“It means ‘you will be the death of me’.” Anders sighs, resting his quill when it becomes clear Hawke isn’t going anywhere. “I’m sure your poor mother has nothing to do with you being so reckless.” 

“True enough. Most would say I get that from my father.” She stretches, then peeks over his shoulder at the words. Fenris is staring at her in vague annoyance. “Why don’t you write down your real name for him?” 

“Only my mother uses it.” Anders half-shrugs. “It’s - special, I guess. Besides, I’ve gotten used to Anders.” 

“Anders is not your real name?” Fenris blurts, concentration apparently having lowered his attention to social protocol. He immediately lowers his head, a faint blush on his cheeks, and Anders smiles. 

“No. It’s a nickname - I’m from the Anderfells, you see. My uncle used to call me a ‘little Anders rascal’ when he was cross with me. It sort of caught on.” 

The elf looks conflicted for a second, tapping his fingers nervously on the tabletop. “Fenris is not my real name either.” 

“It’s not?” Hawke tilts her head to the side. “What is your real name, then?” 

“I do not remember.” 

Anders feels his blood burn, and the way Hawke’s posture changes just an inch tells him of the same rage. Still, she grins at Fenris. 

“Well, you can both be mysterious together, then. My name is Marian Hawke and I have no others that I know of, though I answer to quite a few terms of endearment.” 

“Oh, yes.” Anders snorts. “Bitch, for one.” 

“Wench, whore, dog lord, barbarian, ball-crushing snake. The list goes on.” She smirks at Fenris’ shocked stare, chuckling. “I know, right? That’s a favourite of mine. Sailors can get really creative.” 

“It does not bother you?” The elf asks slowly, still hesitant but apparently willing to bet no blow will come. 

Hawke shrugs with an easy laugh. “I’ve found it gets harder to insult me when one has a mouthful of broken teeth. I quite recommend it.” 

“There are other ways to shut people up, you know.” Anders chips in, though he sends her a fond look. Hawke’s smirk turns lewd as she leans over the table. 

“Oh, I’d shut you up in a whole different way, handsome.” 

Anders shakes his head but smiles. “You’re impossible.” 

“So I’ve heard, yet here I am.” She stands then, smiling at Fenris’ mild frown. “I’ll leave you to your studying. Good night, lads.” 

“Take the room next to Orana’s.” Anders calls after her. “The one you usually take is Fenris’ now.” 

“I’m gone for a few months and already I don’t have a room anymore.” She jokes, exaggerating the sway of her hips. “And here I thought you’d at least invite me to your bed.” 

“Not tonight, sweetheart.” 

“Ah, well.” Hawke shrugs, winks over her shoulder. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” 

Anders shakes his head with a smile. "Don't mind her." He tells Fenris. "She can be a bit overwhelming at first. Shall we continue?" 

“May I ask you something, Anders?” 

The mage grins. This is good progress. 

“You can always ask me whatever you’d like, Fenris.” 

The elf nods, but doesn’t look up. He’s still fidgeting - it is oddly endearing. 

“Messere Hawke mentioned a manifesto. I am curious.” 

“Oh, that. Not exactly a question, but close enough.” Anders sighs. “She means my manifesto for the end of slavery. It’s still a work in progress, but you can read it if you’d like.” 

Fenris does look up at that, eyes wide and shocked. “The end of slavery?” 

“It’s an inhumane and barbaric practice, and I’m not the only one against it.” Anders frowns, trying to keep his rage at bay. He doesn’t want to scare Fenris away from his curiousity. “The odds that we can convince the Magisterium are awfully slim, though. Still, I’m not sitting idly by while people are treated as objects.” 

“You believe slaves should be free?” Fenris looks like he’s having a hard time wrapping his head around it. Anders doesn’t blame him. 

“Everyone should be free.” He replies with a sad smile. “The slaves in Tevinter, the mages in the South. People would say not all slaves are treated poorly, but a golden cage is still a cage, and a person is a person. Everyone should be treated as such, regardless of their position.” Fenris only frowns thoughtfully, so Anders sighs. There is no point in hiding, he supposes. “I’ve seen your confusion over my relationship with the servants, Fenris. We don’t have slaves in this house - people are not things and I will not treat them as such. You’re not a thing either. I planned to free you and I will, in time. Right now, though, I’d rather give you the tools to survive as a free man should you choose to leave and make sure Danarius has no way of getting his hands on you again.” 

The elf looks like he’s just been smacked across the face, but Anders smiles. A slave does not react to a blow - this is the look of a free man. There is hope, if not for the end of slavery, then for one slave at a time. 

“You would free me?” There is an edge of desperation on his voice that reminds Anders of Orana - I’ve only ever known how to be a slave, Master. Please let me stay. “What would I do then?” 

“You would do what you wished.” It’s not an easy answer, but freedom is never easy once people learn to love their chains. “You could stay here, of course, as a servant, as a friend, or you could leave. Whatever you do as a free man is your choice, Fenris, but you don’t have to make it right now. Danarius will still come after you, and me, at least for a while. He’ll want you alive, but if he gets to me - and they never do -” Anders grins. “My will already states that you should be freed. In that case, I would suggest leaving Tevinter. He won’t leave you alone.” 

“You would die for a slave?” Fenris frowns. “It is my duty to die for you, Anders.” 

“I would die for a cause. You owe me nothing, Fenris. Certainly not your life.” He shakes his head when Fenris seems ready to argue. “Choice is not always easy, Fenris, but that is what freedom really means. I will choose to die for it if I must, because I believe everyone deserves that choice. If you don’t understand now, you will in time.” 

There is a long pause. When it becomes clear Fenris isn’t going to answer, Anders sighs and stands. 

“Could we continue tomorrow? I’m quite tired, to be honest, and I would like to take a look at your back before bed. If you don’t mind.” 

Fenris is still silent when they enter his room, and doesn’t look at Anders as he takes off his armour and turns for the mage’s assessment. Anders gently pushes him to sit on the bed and doesn’t even think as he flicks his wrist to light the torches around the room, frowning at Fenris’ back in concentration. 

He does notice the muscles tense up under his hands as he traces the places where the wounds used to be, now smooth and showing no signs of infection as he brings his magic forth to search. 

Satisfied, he nods, taking his hands back. “Everything seems fine. Have you felt ill at all? Dizziness, nausea, shivering?” 

“No, Anders.” 

“Any pain?” 

“No, Anders.” 

“Alright, then.” Anders stands. “Still, it’s probably best if you don’t carry that sword of yours around too much. Try to avoid straining your muscles.” 

Fenris doesn't move, like he's expecting something. Anders knows exactly what, and that is precisely why he leaves the room with a quick "good night". 

Chapter Text

There is no easy walk to freedom anywhere, and many of us will have to pass through the valley of the shadow of death again and again before we reach the mountaintop of our desires. (Nelson Mandela)

"You're doing it again." 

"Doing what?" 

"The sexy tormented look thing." Hawke hops onto his work table. "It's distracting." 

"You're distracting me. Off the table, I need to get these tonics ready." 

She rolls her eyes and stays right where she is. "Why are you doing the sexy tormented thing?" 

"I'm not doing anything." 

"Right. So this has nothing to do with your new charge." 

"Don't call him that." 

"If you would just let me deal with Danarius-" 

"No. I hate him as much as you do, if not more, but it's too soon. I won't put Fenris at risk." 

Hawke frowns. 

"He's already at risk, Anders. Danarius is on the move - assassins have been hired by an unknown party, and not few of them." 

"Of course you would know that." Anders sighs. "What else have you found?" 

"He's fucking pissed, that's what. The guy I persuaded last night said his apprentice was very emphatic about his intolerance to failure." 

"Hadriana?" Anders frowns as he mixes the crushed herbs together. "I thought you said they were hired by an unknown party." 

"That's what the big shots told their pawns. But I don't go for pawns." 

"Of course you don't. How many of them?" 

"A whole cell. Bastard is filthy rich." 

"Do you know anything else?" 

"Only that I'm sticking around until Danarius is good and dead." 

"I can take care of myself, Hawke." 

"Maybe, but you're a healer. I am a killer." She smiles sharply. "Besides, I kind of like the new guy. He has spirit somewhere in there." 

"Will you ever stop being so protective?" Anders sighs, but he's smiling. 

"Maybe when you stop getting into so much trouble I'll think about it. For now, you don't leave my sight." 

There is a knock on the door as Anders rolls his eyes, and Orana peeks into the study. 

“Excuse me, messere. The cots are ready, and the little brother is getting impatient. I don’t think he likes cleaning very much.” 

“Shocking.” Hawke drawls, glancing at Anders pointedly. He sighs. 

“Thank you, Orana. Could you light the lantern for me?” He thrusts the newly-mixed pain tonics into Hawke’s hands, ignoring the indignant click of her tongue. “If you’re going to follow me around, at least make yourself useful and take these downstairs.” 

He awakes to the sound of screaming. 

He’s out of bed in a heartbeat, staff in hand and alert. Orana is the first one he sees when he leaves his room, looking wide-eyed and scared. 

“Messere, what-” 

“Get in my room and lock the door.” Anders cuts in, watches Fenris burst out of his own room out of the corner of his eye. “Whatever happens, stay there, do you understand?” 

She nods shakily. “That was Shaeren’s voice. Oh, dear Maker, that was Shaeren’s voice.” 

Anders heart skips a beat, but there’s no time. “Go, Orana. Do not leave this room. Fenris, stay with her.” 

The warrior frowns and hesitates, but shakes his head. Anders finds there is no time to argue as Hawke comes up the stairs, mabari and Isabela in toll. 

“Anders, they’re here!” 

“I came to warn you.” Isabela adds, greeting him with a tight smile. “A little late, it seems. Oops.” 

“Stay here, we can handle them.” Hawke tells him. There is blood splattered on her cheek, and Anders’ heart is beating out of time. 

“Who-” 

She shakes her head, but there is a sadness in her eyes. “Not now, Anders. I’m trying to make sure you survive this.” 

"I'm not hiding, Hawke." 

"No time to talk, just try not to get stabbed!" Isabela reaches for her daggers as the mabari starts to growl, turning towards the stairwell. Fenris immediately steps up to the frontline as the first assassin comes into view, and Hawke groans.  

"Fine, but stay back. Keep them busy, boy." She adds to her dog before vanishing in a cloud of smoke. Sure enough, the hound charges off with a loud snarl, taking down the first rogue. Anders twirls his staff and smashes it back onto the floor, raining lightning down on an archer.  

“Take the elf alive!” An assassin yells, leaping out of Anders’ range. “Kill the rest!” 

Isabela and Fenris are moving with surprising grace together as they hold back the melee fighters - where the elf is silent and efficient, Isabela is loud and fiery, drawing opponents to them with cackles and mocking shouts. 

Hawke reappears at the other side of the hallway, right behind an archer that ends up with her daggers deep in their back. From where he stands, Anders can see at least three more, and others coming up the stairs. 

“Isabela, down!” The pirate ducks under his fireball, laughing as it fries two assassins on the spot and sends the others rolling back down the stairs. 

“Good one, handsome!” She takes the time to wink at him over her shoulder even as her blades dig into another woman’s flesh. “Can I get some of that lightning trick later?” 

Anders is sweating, casting furiously, but he laughs. “If we survive this, I’ll do it as much as you like.” 

“I’ll hold you to that!” 

The mage feels the Fade shift around him as Fenris’ markings light up, glowing a bluish white. He watches the elf reach straight into a man chest and pull out his heart. It’s messy and gruesome, and even Isabela does a double-take at it. 

“Well, that’s a neat trick.” 

“Neat isn’t the word I’d use.” Hawke says as she leaps over Fenris for cover, clutching her side. “Look at that mess.” 

“You are so funny.” Anders groans, healing her quickly. He’s panting, his mana so low it’s all he can do not to faint. 

Hawke notices, of course, because she notices everything. 

“Getting old there, Blondie.” She jokes even as she reaches into her pockets and throws a lyrium potion his way. “I’m just getting started.” 

Anders catches the vial, draining it quickly. “Do you just happen to carry these around?” 

“I raided your supply on my way up. That’s just how thoughtful I am. Also,” She adds, throwing Isabela a healing potion. “Got some of these.” 

“You’re just full of surprises, aren't you?” 

“That’s why you love me.” 

“Take down the mage!” Someone yells over the fighting. “The Magister wants him dead!” 

Hawke laughs loudly. “You can try!” 

“What, this lot?” Isabela smirks. “They’re pitiful!” 

Fenris just snarls, punching clean through a man’s throat. Anders takes down the last of the archers and pauses, looking around. There should be- 

“Anders, behind you!” 

He turns just in time to block one dagger with his staff. The assassin loses their footing and the one meant for his heart digs into his shoulder instead. Anders groans, staggering back in pain. When he looks up again, it’s to see a throwing knife stuck in their eye. 

Everything is quiet now except for their uneven breathing. Hawke struts over to the corpse and pulls her knife out with a muttered “asshole”. Anders chuckles even as he leans back against the wall, dizzy and weak. He can hear footsteps as Fenris and Isabela approach them. 

Hawke places a firm hand on his chest and wraps the other around the hilt of the dagger in his shoulder. She waits for Anders’ nod before yanking it off in one quick motion, pulling a face at Anders’ pained grunt. 

“Do you want me to-” 

He shakes his head and brings a hand up to the wound, healing it under his palm. Bloody thing was poisoned too, and it’s draining work to cleanse it with magic. He’s sweating and panting, but grins. 

“You weren’t kidding when you said he hired a whole cell.” 

As if on cue, there’s the banging of a door and rushed footsteps from downstairs, and Hawke groans. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding-” 

“Anders!” 

“Oh.” 

“Up here, Uncle.” 

Cassius runs up the stairs, pausing at the trail of corpses before reaching his nephew. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes. Are you?” 

“I’m fine. Some of them stayed at the main house, looking for you. Delayed me somewhat.” 

“Is everyone alright back there?” 

There is a pause in which Anders forgets to breathe, then- 

“Promise me you will not blame yourself.” 

His stomach drops. 

“Shaeren.” He whispers, the name heavy and painful on his tongue. 

“She got the children into the basement when she noticed something was wrong, then tried to warn you.” Cassius shakes his head, his eyes sad. “Her boy followed.” 

Anders pushes himself off the wall, but Hawke stops him. 

“No.” She says softly. “Trust me, Anders. You don’t want to see them like this.” 

“It’s my fault, Hawke.” He snaps, trying to push past her. “She was trying to protect me.” 

“There is no greater freedom than choosing what you die for. Who you die for.” Hawke whispers, eyes firm but gentle. “You told me that once.” 

“I never wanted anyone to die for me!” 

To his side, a door opens. Orana’s voice is sweet and soft, it always is. 

“She would rather die than let something happen to you, messere. Her stubborn lad, she said. She was very proud of you.” 

Anders crumbles.

Fenris refuses to sleep anywhere but in Anders’ room. Even Hawke and Isabela take a while to leave after getting him settled, hovering in poorly-disguised concern. Anders can hear them talking quietly in the next room, but can’t make out the words. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Anders clutches the pillow to his chest and tries to breathe in his mother’s scent even though he knows it is long gone. Pathetic, childish. Selfish. 

“Did I ever tell you she raised me?” He whispers, and feels his chest tighten again. “I was only twelve when I came to Tevinter. Uncle took me in, made me his heir, but he never wanted children. When she sent me here, Mother made him swear he wouldn’t just send me off to a Circle, so I had tutors instead. I learned magic and healing from them, but it was all technique - Shaeren was the one who really taught me to care for others. Whenever I got hurt, she wouldn’t let them touch me.” He chuckles bitterly. “Said I needed a mother, not a healer, pulled out salve and elven remedies. It drove Uncle mad.” 

Fenris is silent, but his ears twitch, listening. 

“‘He’s just a boy’, she would say. ‘A boy needs a mother’. She would scold me when I got in trouble, but still sneak me treats when Uncle grounded me. When I was all grown up, she took Sorrian under her wing. Uncle had taken him from a slaver who sold his parents away. I think she missed having a child, or felt sorry for him, or both. Still, she never stopped caring for me.” Anders fingers are white where he grips the pillow, firm even as the rest of his body trembles. “Orana said she was proud of me. There is nothing to be proud of.” 

“She was proud because you care.” Fenris says suddenly, low and soft. He doesn’t look at Anders. “I - am sorry. They came for me, yet it is you who suffer.” 

“Don’t.” Anders is so tired. The world feels still, hollow. He breathes. Thinks of Shaeren’s calloused hands working nimbly on scraped knees. “I knew they would come, and I made my choice. Danarius will not have you back.” 

He will die first.

Chapter Text

Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind. (Virginia Woolf)

The next day, Anders issues the challenge. It is not hard to find imagined insults to justify a duel, not if you are an Altus. 

“Are you sure about this, Anders?” His uncle asks, holding the documents. “Danarius does not fight fair.” 

“Just let me deal with him.” Hawke adds, still frowning at him, arms crossed over her chest. “A bastard dies, you get your justice, everybody wins. It’s not like his assassination would damage your reputation.” 

Anders couldn’t care less about his reputation. This isn’t about justice - this is vengeance. 

“If anyone is going to kill Danarius, it’s me.” He states, tone final. Cassius shakes his head with a sigh. Hawke just frowns harder. 

“He has no heir, you realize.” His uncle points out. “If you do succeed, you will inherit his place in the Magisterium.” 

“I have no interest in becoming a Magister. Let the Archon pick someone else.” 

“If you survive to decline.” Hawke drawls acidly. “Danarius is a fucking prick, Anders. If he has to bathe in the blood of twenty slaves to win this duel, he will.” She holds out a hand to stop his reply. “But fine, say you win. It will get messy. No one bats an eye at assassination, but if kill him in a duel, the bloody nobles will be talking like fishwives. Not to mention all the paperwork.” She grins a little, but it is strained. “You hate paperwork.” 

“There will be rumours either way.” Cassius reasons. “We can turn them in your advantage if we’re careful, put your cause in the right light.” 

“As soon as people start talking about you killing Magisters to protect slaves, assassination attempts will triple in a week.” Hawke scoffs. “You’re stepping on their toes, Anders. It’s all well and good when you’re keeping on the down low, but this is big. It’s out there. The bloody Archon himself will have you killed if he thinks you’re gaining influence.” 

“It’s not that simple.” Cassius examines the documents once more. “We’re far from being the only ones who wish Danarius dead, and beating him in a formal challenge would be a display of power. It will attract enemies, of course, but if we make sure it benefits the right people Anders should be relatively safe.” 

“I fucking hate politics.” Anders mumbles crossly. 

“Language.” His uncle scolds absentmindedly. “Of course, we still don’t know if he will even accept.” 

“He has to.” Anders sighs. “A challenge from the Altus who took his slave from him on account of a careless deal? He doesn’t have the influence to refuse that and be in good standing.” 

“Perhaps not, but his standing isn’t good as it is. Still, Danarius is too proud. It makes him reckless - one of the many reasons he never managed a higher position.” 

“Which also means he might try to take you out before the duel.” Hawke points out. “Which is why I’m staying.” 

“Hawke-” 

“Don’t even try to argue with me on this, Anders. If you think you’re stubborn - and you bloody are, you little bastard - you’ve got nothing on the Hawkes. I will write to Varric and make sure Bethany is safe. If needed, I’ll have someone bring her here. I am not leaving.” 

Anders sighs, but grins. “Do a Fereldan a favour, suddenly they’re living in your house and following you around in dark corners.” 

“It’s no wonder we like dogs so much.” She smirks, patting her own mabari. “We’re a lot like them, you see - feed us once and we never go away.” 

“Anders.” 

He looks up from his work, surprised. Fenris is standing by the door, head low, but there is a determined set of his shoulders that makes Anders smile. 

“Come in, Fenris. I take it Isabela is done trying to convince you to use your ‘magical fisting thing’ on her?” 

Fenris takes a seat without any prompting, crossing his hands over his lap. “She is very - persistent.” 

Anders laughs. 

“She’s bloody crazy, she is.” He says fondly. “I’m surprised she hasn’t asked me for any lightning tricks yet. She did try to guess the colour of my underclothes, though. They’re pink, by the way, but don’t tell her that. You’ll spoil the fun.” 

Fenris doesn’t laugh, but Anders supposes there’s only so much he can expect. Instead, the elf takes a deep breath. 

“I - have heard of the duel.” 

“Ah. Of course.” 

“I would like to request that you reconsider. Magister Danarius is powerful, and he will not give you a fair fight.” 

“So I’ve heard.” Anders sighs, leaning back heavily on his chair. “But I have to do this.” 

Fenris frowns, considering, and his words are strained. “If you - if you would give me back to Magister Danarius, the attacks would stop.” 

Anders crosses his arms. “Fenris, do you want to go back to Danarius?” 

A long pause. 

“I want to keep you safe.” 

“Because you still see me as your master.” Anders smiles sadly. 

Fenris looks up at him, determined, and shakes his head. “No. Because you have been kind to me.” 

“You owe me nothing, Fenris.” 

His ears twitch. He seems thoughtful. “It is a strange thing, to wish for something. To care beyond duty. You have given me that chance, and so I care. Allow me to protect you, Anders. It is the only way I know.” 

Anders is touched, he truly is. But he cannot back down on this. 

“I promised I would always listen to you, Fenris, but I also need you to trust me. This is something I must do.” 

“Then allow me to come with you.” 

“No. I won’t have Danarius anywhere near you.” 

“He would not dare touch me.” There is a hint of anger in Fenris’ voice. Anders doesn’t know whether to call it a good thing. 

“If he does, duel rules are out of the window. I hate politics, Fenris. I don’t want to have to deal with open murder. Much less so with letting him get his filthy hands on you again.” He doesn’t touch Fenris, doesn’t think it will make him any less uneasy, but he does try for a reassuring smile. “Once Danarius is dead, we are both free. I’ll sign your papers and you can go wherever you want.” 

“I would rather stay with you.” 

Anders blinks and softens, shaking his head. “You say that now, but things may get - complicated. I’m not letting anyone else die for my choices.” 

The pain won’t fade, it seems, but something about the way Fenris looks at him makes it easier. 

“Danarius has accepted your challenge.” 

Anders raises an eyebrow over his plate. Beside him, Fenris visibly tenses. 

“That was quick.” 

“Of course it was.” Hawke scoffs. “He wants you dead. Fucking bastard is probably lining up slaves to use as blood sacrifices already.” 

“Hawke.” Anders groans, sending a pointed glance in Fenris’ direction. She huffs, but stops talking in favour of taking another bite of lamb. 

“He sent word this morning.” Cassius continues, clearly ignoring what he calls their “childish bickering”. “By law, the duel will be arranged whenever and wherever you wish.” 

“Here, in two weeks.” Anders replies easily, keeping his voice calm for Fenris’ benefit. 

“Oh, good.” Hawke rolls her eyes. “You’re giving him time to prepare, too.” 

“It is the law.” His uncle cuts in before he can. “It is an official duel, and therefore there is paperwork to be done before and after. Besides, rushing it would make Anders seem cornered.” 

“The only thing cornering Anders is his own stubbornness. I’ve already said I will kill Danarius if he only says the word.” 

“You have a weird way of mothering people, Hawke.” Anders sighs. “Assassination is all well and good, but what happened to treats and bedtime stories?” 

“The only bedtime story you’ll be getting is my fist in your face.” Hawke drawls, but grins as she tosses a piece of bread at his hair. Anders yelps and flicks her on the ear. 

Cassius sighs wearily. 

“Anders.” 

“Behave like an Altus, I know. There is no one here to impress, Uncle.” 

“I take offense to that.” Hawke smirks. “You know, I was thinking - since you’re set on doing this, wouldn’t it be just such a shame if all of Danarius’ slaves suddenly vanished on the day of the duel?” 

“Unfortunately, we can’t do that.” Anders sighs. “Too obvious.” 

“If he wants to use blood magic, he can slit his own wrists.” 

“As disgusting as you and I both find the concept, slaves are property as far as the law is concerned. I cannot keep him from them just as I cannot keep him from his staff.” 

“As far as the law is concerned, blood sacrifice of unwilling participants is also a no-no, but I don’t see that stopping anyone.” 

“The law is made by the powerful for the powerful, Hawke. I could have a judge from the Magisterium watch the duel and he would swear there was no use of illegal magic even over the corpses at his feet. Mess with a Magister’s right to have slaves, however, and you’ll suddenly find yourself up in line for the Rite of Tranquility.” 

“There is something.” Fenris’ low voice startles him. Hawke slowly closes her mouth and listens. “Magister Danarius has an amulet. I am unsure of how it works, but as far as my understanding goes it help focus magic from blood. Perhaps it would give you an edge to have it removed?” 

“Where does he keep it?” Hawke inquires immediately. “What does it look like?” 

“It is an amulet of Andoral. Magister Danarius keeps it on his person most of the time, but at night it should be in his quarters, on the bedside table.” 

“It’s too risky.” Cassius shakes his head. “We cannot trespass on a Magister’s home without consequences.” 

“We won’t.” Hawke grins. “We trace his route, stumble into him out on the street, and the amulet is gone.” 

“Danarius is many things, but he is not stupid.” Anders arches an eyebrow at her. “He will know it was our doing.” 

“Of course he will, but he won’t be able to prove it. I’m very good at what I do, Anders. And if he wants to try and have me arrested or killed, well, he can bloody well try.” With that she stands, rubbing her hands together. “Now, time for me to work my magic.” 

By Hawke’s advice, Anders keeps the clinic closed until the duel. Danarius might still try to finish him off through less than official means, and he won’t endanger the people who come to him for help. 

Still, Anders feels no motivation to work on his manifesto or studies for days. It’s as if taking away his clinic has taken away his purpose as well, and so he spends hours in the gardens or wandering aimlessly around the house with Fenris trying to be subtle as he follows from a distance. 

“You really weren’t trained for stealth, were you?” Anders drawls, sprawled out on a garden bench with an open, unread book on his lap. 

“No.” Fenris answers simply, stepping out of his flimsy hiding place. 

“I gathered. You’re very quiet, but you hide poorly.” 

“Being a bodyguard usually means drawing attention to yourself, not away. But I was not hiding.” 

“Sure.” Anders snorts. “I told you, you don’t have to follow me around.” 

“You seem troubled.” 

“I don’t really know what to do when I’m not working.” The mage shrugs with a half-smile. Fenris nods, gracefully lowering himself onto the grass. 

“Neither do I.” 

Anders stares for a moment, then offers the book for him to take. Fenris tilts his head questioningly. 

“We haven’t practiced your reading since - well. You’ll be a free man once Danarius is dead. It’s a useful skill to have.” Carefully, almost reverently, Fenris takes the book from him. Anders smiles. “Have you heard of Shartan?” 

“Only vaguely. Slaves whisper stories about him.” 

“He was the leader of the slaves who joined Andraste’s rebellion against the Imperium. This book is about him.” Anders looks up at the sky and smiles sadly. “Shaeren used to tell me his stories - how he and his followers ambushed and overpowered forces that had seemed much stronger than them, how Andraste made him her champion and he died trying to free her. I always found them beautiful, fascinating. The adventures, the dreams, the endless fight for freedom. She could barely finish one story before I would ask for another. I reckon it must have driven her mad at times.” 

Fenris is looking down at the book on his lap, gently tracing symbols Anders knows he cannot understand just yet. 

“Magister Aielus approved of this? The tale of Shartan is considered heretical.” 

“Only because knowledge is power.” Anders frowns. “To fully dominate a people, you must wipe away their History. How do you justify slavery if it is remembered that your own prophet fought to end it? How do you call elves heretical enough to justify a massacre when it is known Andraste’s own champion was one of them? How do you keep rebellions from gaining power when the memory of a hero is fresh? So you wipe it off, ban it, brand it heresy so all it can be is whispers too frail to hold themselves. History remembers only what is convenient. My uncle doesn't believe in slavery any more than I do, but he is a politician, not a fighter.” 

Fenris only frowns thoughtfully for a while. There is a determined look on his face when he looks up at Anders again.  

“I would like to learn more about Shartan.” 

“Well then,” Anders grins. “Let's work on your reading so you can search through all my extensive illegal collection on him.” 

Fenris chuckles quietly even as he concentrates on the book, pointing at a few words. “I recognize some letters, but cannot make out the meaning.” 

“This, right here,” Anders indicates a word at the bottom of the page. “Is Shartan’s name. Do you recognize the letters?” 

Fenris frowns in such a frustrated way Anders almost feels bad before shaking his head.  

“Think of the sounds.” The mage pushes gently. “Writing is just representing sounds. We can work on that.” 

“What of this?” Fenris inquires, pointing to a small poem. “I recognize nothing from it.” 

“Ah. That's Tevene. There are a few parts in Elvish as well, but I think we’re better off sticking to Common for now. Do you know any Elvish, Fenris?” 

“No, Anders.” 

“I know only a few words, but I cannot read or write it. It is a well-kept secret of elves, as I understand.” 

“Some slaves can speak it, mostly only a handful of words. It is usually kept hidden from the masters.” 

“I learned the swear words first, to be fair.” Anders laughs. “You have heard of the Dalish, no? I have a - friend, in a clan near Kirkwall. What little I know I learned from her and Shaeren.” 

“Kirkwall?” 

“It’s in the Free Marches, to the South. It used to be part of the Imperium, the center of the slave trade - now, it holds an entire operation to help fugitive slaves, under Hawke’s command. She calls it poetic justice, but I think she just appreciates the irony.” 

“I believed messere Hawke to be an assassin.” 

“Oh, she’s that, too, and a quite remarkable duelist.” Anders grins. “She made quite a name for herself back in Kirkwall after she fled the Blight in Ferelden. I was in contact with Isabela at the time, tipping her off on slave ships - she may be a pirate, but she’s a lot more compassionate than you’d give her credit for. Hawke heard of me from her and sought me out when the templars started closing in on her sister.” 

“I have heard of the South’s Circles of Magi. Are they truly so terrible?” 

“They’re prisons. Whatever one might fear in magic, locking people up because of how they were born isn’t the answer. I took Bethany in for a while, trained her in some healing magic - she’s really quite talented. When Hawke was made Champion of Kirkwall, she had enough influence to keep Bethany safe, so she came to take her back. She offered to help me in freeing slaves and shutting down illegal operations in the Free Marches before people could be sent to Tevinter and sold. She also sometimes sends mages my way, those fleeing the Circles in the South.” 

“Have you ever been to the South, Anders?” 

“Only a couple of times, at Hawke’s insistence. Kirkwall is a dangerous place for a mage, but she made sure I would be safe. I met her friends there, the people who help her deal with the slavers.” 

“You speak fondly of her.” 

Anders scoffs. 

“She’s loud and stubborn and utterly infuriating, but she is one of the best people I know. I’ve never seen anyone inspire loyalty quite like Marian Hawke.” 

“Aw, Anders.” He can hear the smirk before he even sees Hawke walk out of the house. “You’re going to make me cry.” 

“I take it back. I take it all back.” 

“Have you mentioned my heroic deeds yet? My stunning good looks? My cunning wit?” 

“He knows you, Hawke. I’m not as good a liar as Varric.” 

“You wound me! Just as I was about to embrace you dramatically as the sun set behind us as well. What happened to all the love?” 

“Who said anything about love?” Anders grins as she sighs, flopping down theatrically beside Fenris, who is watching them in mild amusement. 

“What’s not to love?” 

“Would you like a list?” 

“We were having a moment, Anders, and now you’ve ruined it!” She shakes her head in mock-disappointment, but the hint of a smile never leaves her lips. “Go on then, pretty boy, get on with your lesson. Then I’ll get Varric to write Fenris and tell him all of my song-worthy adventures, since you’re being such a spoilsport. I think I’ll have him start with how I single-handedly defeated the Arishok.” 

“The Arishok?” Fenris inquires curiously, and Anders groans. 

“Oh, here we go again.” 

“The Arishok indeed. Make yourself comfortable - it’s quite the story.”

Chapter Text

Freedom is too little. What I desire has no name yet. (Clarice Lispector)

He gets a letter from Danarius, offering his “deepest sympathies on the loss of his slave” and suggesting that he “gives up on this foolish duel”. He is, after all, only a young man, but he will see reason in time. 

Anders takes great pleasure in burning it with a perhaps rather excessive fire spell. 

Danarius isn’t stupid enough to openly suggest that he gives Fenris back, but it is implied in his offer to negotiate. Anders isn’t stupid either. 

He is, however, absolutely furious. 

“Your robes are cinged.” 

Anders looks up from the bowl in which he is forcefully grinding herbs and tries his best not to glare. Fenris looks mildly curious as he stands by the door, only the slightest twitch of his ears. 

“And covered in potion residue. Would you like me to get you clean ones?” 

“No.” Anders shakes his head. “These are probably ruined anyway. And you don’t have to tend to me, Fenris.” 

“Still, you seem unwell. Orana worries.” 

Anders sighs, rubbing his face wearily. “Remind me to apologize to her later. I didn’t mean to be so snappy.” 

“She was not offended, only concerned. Seeing as you’ve been nothing but kind to her for as long as I have been here, I quite agree.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You seem troubled, Anders. Is it the duel?” 

“In a manner of speaking.” Anders sighs again, flopping down on a nearby chair. “You don’t have to worry about it.” 

“And yet, I do.” Fenris replies carefully, assessing him. “Will you not tell me what is wrong?” 

Anders pauses. There is no point in lying - Hawke and Cassius will need to know at some point. 

“I received a letter from Danarius.” 

Fenris visibly tenses, but it takes him only a second to slip back into something more neutral. “What was the purpose of this letter?” 

“To taunt me, of course, but in the subtle, infuriating way of politicians. Bastard offered me his condolences on the death of my slave and tried to persuade me to give up on the duel.” 

“Shaeren was not a slave.” 

“No, she wasn’t, as I’m sure he is perfectly aware.” 

“Do you have the letter? Perhaps Magister Aielus could make use of it.” 

“I have the ashes.” Anders smirk is self-deprecating. “He can make use of them to call me childish if he wishes.” 

“You are angry.” Fenris says, cautious. “Was there something else to this letter?” 

“You want to know if he demanded I give you back.” Anders sighs. “It’s irrelevant - I’m not doing it.” 

“If it would-” 

“The only way Danarius will ever stop chasing me is when he is dead. Even if I were to give you back, which I’ve already told you is out of question, he would do everything to twist the Magisterium against me. Not to mention the assassins. You’d think with the amount of assassination attempts I’ve dodged they’d at least give me some credit, really.” 

“I suspect you provoke the anger of many.” 

“Not as much as you’d think. The Magisterium sees me more as a boy throwing a tantrum than the leader of a possible rebellion. As long as I limit myself to freeing my own slaves and running a free clinic, they won’t be trying to frame me as a maleficarum or traitor. Most Magisters I’ve angered are the ones whose slaves I’ve gained and freed.” 

“Is that something you do regularly, then?” 

“Not as much as I would like. Most of the slaves I’ve freed are gone by now, though some keep in touch. Orana stayed, but she still refuses to leave the house. I thought you might have met her, actually. She was a slave at Hadriana’s family estate.” 

Fenris visibly tenses as soon as he mentions the name. Anders frowns. 

“I have never been to her estate.” 

“Lucky you. I’ve been forced to attend many parties there, though Hadriana always hated me - more so when I bought Orana from her parents. I think that’s when they finally decided I wasn’t a suitable candidate for marriage, thank the Maker.” 

Fenris’ ears twitch. “You were meant to marry her?” 

“It seems her parents considered it, for a while. I may be a bastard, but I am an Altus, and magic runs strong in my bloodline. Uncle wouldn’t have made me go through with it, of course. He despises her entire family. Still, they were the ones who contacted me when Danarius fell ill - I imagine he’s not too pleased with her right about now.” 

“He lost a slave, but he is alive.” 

“He is. You can’t imagine the restraint that went into not just accidentally letting him die.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“You may not remember me, Fenris, but I remember you. Danarius’ sick little ritual was the talk of the Circles for weeks. I saw you only once, at a soiree at Magister Solus’ estate, dragged around on a leash like a pet. It made me so sick I left the party early and got framed for some Magister’s assassination. I couldn’t just leave you with him. Hadriana was never the brightest - she made a sloppy deal on his behalf, hoping to please him. It seems it backfired.” 

“When I was Magister Danarius’ slave,” Fenris starts slowly, and Anders feels some pride mix with the dread for what is about to come. “Hadriana was always a nightmare. She would mock me, hound my sleep, control my food. I had no idea Orana was hers.” 

“She is a power-hungry, sadistic bitch.” Anders spits angrily, then softens because this is Fenris, and it is not his fault. “As Danarius’ apprentice, she will probably be at the duel. This is why I need you to stay here, Fenris.” 

“I am not his slave anymore. She cannot touch me.” 

“Still, I cannot control what she says. You don’t want to see her, or him, Fenris. Trust me. You can stay here with Hawke, since she can’t be there either, and you two can go through all the gruesome, painful ways I could be killing Danarius.” 

“For a healer, you sure seem pleased about the prospect of brutally murdering someone.” 

“I hate injustice. Better the death of one Magister than the suffering of many slaves.” 

“Most would not see it that way.” 

“That’s because they need to believe a slave’s life matters less so they can sleep at night.” Anders sighs. “I want to believe I can change that, but - it’s hard, sometimes. It feels like I can never do enough.” 

“Then why not just give up?” 

“Because I need to believe in a world where people can be free to live and choose and love. Because I could at least help you, and Orana, and many others, one at a time. Until I can do something more, I can only hope that is enough.” 

Fenris stares, tense, puzzled. 

“I am grateful to you, Anders. Truly.” 

Anders smiles. He’s grateful to Fenris, too. 

“I got the amulet,” Hawke half-whispers as she slips into his room. “I’ll keep it with me just in case Danarius tries to pull a trick and get it back.” 

“Stay with Fenris.” Anders replies, checking his staff once more. “Whatever happens, both of you need to stay inside.” 

“I don’t like this, Anders.” She crosses her arms, and it’s not her usual sarcastic tone, but something softer. “Danarius must be feeling way too confident if he didn’t even bother sending assassins.” 

“As far as he is concerned, I am a healer, not a duelist. Which is, as you know, only partly true. But let him believe he can beat me with blood magic - if anything, it will make him sloppy and easier to kill." 

“I don't like this.” She repeats. “It feels like he has something up his sleeve.” 

“They always do.” 

She chuckles, but it's brief, almost automatic. “Promise me you’ll come back alive.” 

“You know I can't-” 

“Promise me.” She asks, and Anders blinks because her voice is different. Hawke is never scared, and yet- 

“I promise.” 

“If you die, I will drag you back from the Fade by your ear, and I will use Danarius’ blood to do it. Are we clear?” 

Anders smiles. “I never figured you for the blood magic type.” 

“I’ll get Merrill on it. I'll go get Fenris now. Help me out, by the way - I've got my money on Danarius going boom and blasting off into little pieces.” 

“I shall do my best.” 

Fenris is waiting outside the room, looking anything but pleased. Anders smiles reassuringly at him before going downstairs, where his uncle is sitting.  

“Danarius is waiting outside.” 

“He's early, then. Anything I should know?” 

“Hadriana is with him, as we expected, as well as a few slaves and guards.” 

“With any luck, he’ll miss and bleed her instead of any slaves.” 

Cassius half-smiles and stands. “It is too late to go back now, but please, be careful. I do not wish to have to tell your mother her son died in a foolish duel.” 

“She would be so proud.” 

“She is.” His uncle replies, resting an arm on his shoulders and leading him outside. Danarius is dressed in his finest battle outfit, Hadriana scowling at his side. Anders grins at her when he walks out. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Hawke leaning beside a large window into the courtyard. “Welcome, Magister Danarius.” 

“Magister Aielus.” Danarius nods, smiling arrogantly. “And serah Anders. Here I thought you had finally given up on this foolishness.” 

“You speak as if you would rather back away from the challenge, Magister.” Anders replies in kind, leaning on his staff. 

“My only wish is to prevent the waste of a young life, serah. But tell me - where is my little wolf? I rather thought you’d have him at your side. The lad has many talents, after all.” 

Anders’ blood boils, but his composure remains intact - he was, after all, raised for Tevinter politics. Two can play that game. 

“I’m afraid his leash has snapped, Magister. It is hard to control someone who cannot be dragged around, no?” 

“Indeed? I’ve always found a leash is only decorative on a loyal pet.” 

“Loyalty is one way of putting it. But a wolf cannot be tamed, Magister. Perhaps you brought this on yourself with your clever naming?” 

“Anyone can be tamed with the right incentive, serah. But we’re not here simply to debate, yes?” Danarius smirks cruelly, glancing to where Hawke stands, apparently not overly committed to hiding. “Will your friend not be joining us? Curiously enough, I seem to remember running into her just this morning - quite literally, in fact.” 

“What a remarkable coincidence.” Anders drawls. 

“Indeed. Such a lovely woman. A pity she was in a hurry and there was no time for introductions. In fact, I was so taken by the young lady I took it upon myself to discover her name. Perhaps a proper introduction might be in order after this is done.” 

Anders blood chills at the underlying threat, but he knows Hawke - she would probably have told Danarius herself, spat on his face and dared him to do his worst. He’s half-surprised she doesn’t hop over onto the courtyard to do so now. 

He is definitely surprised he doesn’t spit on Danarius himself. 

“I’m not much a necromancer,” He taunts instead. “But I shall give it a try if you so insist.” 

Danarius laughs at the exact same moment Hadriana growls. That is the difference between them, and why Hadriana never managed to be more than mediocre at best.  

“I like you, young man. I truly do.” 

“I did tell you, Magister,” Cassius smiles sharply. “The lad has a gift like few others. Now, shall we begin?” 

“By all means.” Danarius bows politely, a hint of mockery in his smile. “No need to delay this ugly business any further, I should think.” 

“I rather agree. Take your places, gentlemen.” 

Anders pointedly ignores Danarius’ arrogant stance as they bow to each other, then steps back to take his place. 

“Ready?” Cassius inquires, standing between the two but out of their line of firing. Danarius leans on his staff as if he could not be less worried if he tried, and Anders twirls his own tauntingly. “The duel must be within the Imperium’s laws. No forbidden magic is allowed.” Anders nearly scoffs. Yeah, right. “Lady Hadriana and I will serve as witnesses. The duel must be fought to the death unless one party surrenders under the other’s terms. You may begin.” 

Anders strikes first, a simple lightning spell that is more of a formality than anything else. Danarius throws up a barrier easily and follows up with fire, and then it's on.  

Danarius is powerful, there is no denying that. His knowledge of blood magic is extensive, and unlike many other Magisters, he has seen battle. Anders knows his best chance is to keep his strategy defensive and wait for an opening, but anger is burning right under his skin, making him reckless. It means Danarius stumbles a little on his defences, but it also means he gets the first hit on Anders.  

He hears Hawke growl as he covers the burnt spot on his arm and groans, dodging another spell to his left. Danarius is getting cocky now, and it's not long before he lets his guard down only to end up with a similar burn on his leg.  

He covers up his wince with a laugh. “Not bad, serah. It seems your uncle did take the time to teach his bastard duelling.” 

“I’m afraid you are ill-informed, Magister. I am my uncle’s heir, but not his bastard.” 

“Indeed? I was under the impression that your mother was a servant within Magister Aielus’ household.” 

Anders doesn’t snarl out of sheer force of will. They both know he means Shaeren, and he is sure Danarius knows she was not his mother. “Your source does not seem very reliable, Magister.” Anders manages to get a spell past Danarius defences and grins. “I wouldn’t have thought you were one for gossip.” 

“It would seem magic is indeed strong in your blood, young man. What a shame to waste such potential healing beggars and slaves.” 

Anders dodges a spell to his left only to have another hit his shoulder and bites down on a wince. “My magic does not require blood, Magister. Mine or otherwise.” 

“Indeed, so I have heard. If only you weren't so determined to waste your life so soon, I might have shown you the way to true power. As it is, though,” Danarius' lips curl maliciously. “Let’s get this whole ugly business out of the way.” 

And with that, he takes a knife out of his robes and buries it in one of his guards' throat. Blood gushes from the wound as the elf's body hits the floor, and Anders can feel the Fade twist around it, can almost hear the spirits gathering around the wound like an infection. 

This is the kind of magic one cannot dodge. Anders feels his blood burn in his veins as if on fire, tolerable at first, then excruciatingly painful. He cannot help the pained gasp that escapes him, the way his body shudders and curls on itself, but that doesn't mean he can't manage a barrier strong enough to keep Danarius' next attack away. Hawke snarls so loud he can hear it through the agony – she's a second away from hopping over and trying to take Danarius down herself, Anders knows. He can't let that happen. If he dies here, everything is lost. Fenris will be dragged back to Danarius' estate. Hawke won't make it back to Kirkwall. Shaeren will have died in vain, his mother left to mourn a son she hasn't seen in a decade. 

He will not die here. 

He summons every last bit of strength he has to step into Danarius' space, ignores the boiling of his blood, the electric current surging through his body from the last hit he took, and takes the split second in which his opponent is too stunned to react to dig his staff's blade into the Magister's chest. 

Anders can't focus – he knows Danarius gasps in pain and Hadriana yells, he knows he manages enough energy to send a lightning bolt down his staff, smells burnt flesh, and then it's all a blur.  

He awakes to the sound of quiet voices in the hallway. He's in his room, Fenris curled up on a chair next to his bed, asleep. They have stripped him down to his underwear and bandaged his wounds, though his shoulder stills throbs and static still buzzes under his skin. His mouth is dry, but reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table sends a bolt of pain through his body. Anders falls back against the pillows with a groan. He can’t even summon enough mana to heal himself. 

Beside him, Fenris stirs and blinks. “You are awake.” 

“So it would seem.” Anders breathes out, feels his lungs struggle. “Didn’t think I would be again.” 

Fenris stares, then reaches over to hand him the glass of water. “I should let the others know.” 

“I suspect they'll be by soon enough.” Anders drinks, hands Fenris the empty glass back with a grateful smile. “How long have I been out?” 

The elf glances out the window, where the sun appears to be rising. “A full day, I'd say.” 

“And Danarius?” 

Fenris looks at him like he’s searching for something. “Dead.” 

“Well,” Anders tries to smile again, finds he's too tired. “That’s good news, at least.” He takes in Fenris' stiff shoulders, his tired eyes. “Have you been here this whole time?” 

“Yes.” 

“Trust me,” Hawke walks in with a grin. “He wouldn’t move. We tried.” Her smile turns into something softer as she takes in Anders, beaten and bandaged but awake. “Good to see you alive.” 

“I couldn’t just die.” Anders replies in much the same light tone. “Whatever would you do without me?” 

“I told you,” She replies easily. “I'd drag you back from the Fade myself. I'll go tell Cassius and Orana. Expect her to come by later, tearful and carrying enough food for a week.” 

“I look forward to it.” Anders says truthfully. Hawke grins at him again before turning on her heel and heading downstairs. 

Left alone with Fenris again, Anders sighs. “I shudder to think of all the paperwork headed my way. I’m sure Hadriana will claim I used forbidden magic or something equally ridiculous.” 

“She was – upset.” Fenris replies quietly. “She reached for her staff and I thought Hawke was going to rip her throat out, but Magister Aielus intervened.” 

“Good.” Anders rubs at his forehead, hisses as his shoulder protests. “At least I don’t have to smuggle Hawke out of Tevinter and make up some excuse as to why Hadriana ended up butchered. She's ruined now, anyway. Her family has little influence and she won’t get another tutor.” He smiles weakly then. “Congratulations, Fenris. You are a free man. Or will be, after I gather enough strength to sign a few papers.” 

Fenris just stares at him, unreadable, for a few very long moments, then sighs. “I – do not know how to be free.” 

“No one does. We try and we fuck up and we try again. That’s all there is to it.” 

Another pause. “When Danarius did this to me,” He gestures vaguely at his markings, eyes far away. “He took away all my memories. My family, my name. All I knew was pain – and him. I accepted that.” 

“You had no choice.” Anders whispers, throat tight. Fenris looks at him. 

“And then you came along and I felt so – betrayed. Being his was all I knew, and he was giving me away. It was the first time I felt anything other than painful acceptance. All I knew how to be was a thing, and you refused to treat me like one.”  

“You are not a thing.” 

“No.” Fenris whispers, so quiet Anders can barely hear him. “Not anymore.” 

“Not ever.” 

“I – would like to stay, if possible. By your side.” 

“You’re welcome to stay if that’s what you want. Only if that’s what you want.” 

“I have a few talents that you may find useful.” When Anders looks mildly horrified, he chuckles. “Such as fighting.” 

“Ah. Of course.” 

“I know you worry, but I don’t want to stay because I have nowhere else to go, Anders. I can take care of myself, and Hawke even offered to take me with her to Kirkwall. I want to stay because I want to stay with you.” 

Anders swallows around the lump in his throat, breathes. “If you want to stay as my bodyguard – which I don’t need, by the way – I will pay you. You’ll still be free to leave whenever you wish. That’s not negotiable.” 

"I rather think you've paid me enough for a lifetime already. I don't like debts, and yet I owe you my life." 

"You owe me nothing." Anders reaches for him, grabs his hand, feels his chest warm when Fenris doesn't move, doesn't even flinch. "I'm not as selfless as you may think, Fenris. I fight for what I believe in, and I will take down those who stand in my way. I won't stop – I cannot. If you wish to stay, you need to know that." 

"Yours is an honourable fight. One I wouldn't mind following. Or dying for." 

"I don't want anyone else to die for me." 

"Not for you." Fenris smiles, actually smiles for what seems like the first time. "For myself. For the first time, I have that choice."