SNIPPETS FROM TIME

It had been over a year since his escape, a year since he not only abandoned his Fog Warrior friends, but also struck them down by the order of his old master. Fenris managed to flee from the shores of Seheron, across the Ventosus Straits, through the Arlathan Forest and now into the "grand" nation of Antiva, with no sign of stopping. He'd been hunted of course, but for the most part managed to avoid getting caught, purposely straying as far from the Tevinter Imperium as he could and evading anyone who hailed from there. But Danarius was no fool, and Fenris could no longer rely on Tevinter armor as a sign of trouble, but now the magister had employed anyone and everyone to bring his beloved pet home, forcing Fenris to always look over his shoulder, always on high alert an trusting no one. Understandably, it was starting to get exhausting.

He avoided major cities, sticking to the smaller villages where he was less likely to be discovered. The only issue was, he had a hard time finding places to rest. Inns, with free rooms at any rate, were hard to come by, an Fenris didn't have much coin on his person to begin with. Sometimes he had to rest out in the wilderness, or if he happened to be so bold, he'd find shelter in stables. This was the state of things this evening, the little farmland he stumbled on seeming to be quiet with their inhabitants being asleep. He'd decided a quick snooze would do him some good, as he was beginning to grow weak and weary from his travel. He'd be in and out before anyone would notice. That had been the plan, but upon waking up to a kick from an angry looking farmer, wielding a pitchfork like it were a spear, Fenris was starting to regret his decision.

The older man was speaking Antivan, a language Fenris found himself unfamiliar with, but the tone said enough. He was angry, and questioning why the elf was there. It seemed he'd also been well aware of him being armed, or had being the better term, as the great sword had been kicked aside, just out of reach. The elf could certainly try to grab it, and frankly was tempted, but he remained still, glaring up at the human. "Put that away before you hurt yourself, old man." he advises in common tongue, hoping they'd be able to get somewhere with this conversation. He lucked out, though the man doesn't appear too intimidated, surprisingly. "I've chased off larger bandits than you, elf." he retorts. "Much larger." he adds, gesturing with his pitchfork for him to move, further away from the blade and towards the exit.

"You are mistaken." Fenris had began. He was no bandit, but a fugitive? He'd give him that much. "I've no problem leaving, but I will not go without my weapon." he states calmly. He had a hard enough time fleeing, he doubted his chances would be much better if he were unarmed. He had no desire to hurt this man, not yet, anyway, but if he gave him much trouble, he wouldn't hesitate either. "And give you a chance to strike me down? You are a funny elf." he chuckles. This man was old and clearly didn't fear for his life, but Fenris sensed that this human was more than what he seemed. "Not very many people come out this far, none that are good, anyway." he explains, not caring what Fenris claimed to be, feeling safer basing his assumption on pure history. "I've had trouble with your lot for years. I may be old, but I'm not stupid." Fenris grunted, hardly amused. "I beg to differ."

The old fool was stubborn, offering him little choice. Fenris had other methods of fending for himself at his disposal, and already was prepared, his markings beginning to take on their glow. The old man notices, the smug attitude changing to confusion, then fear as Fenris moved in to strike. In a matter of seconds, Fenris has the man on his back, the pitchfork mere inches from piercing his eyes. Before the elf could make another move, he hears shuffling behind him, followed by a frightened voice. Fenris didn't remove the pitchfork as he looked over his shoulder to spot the child, a girl who could be no older than ten, with large eyes filled with such terror at the sight before her. She stutters out something in Antivan, and the old man does the same, yelling at the girl, no doubt orders to flee. She seems frozen instead, looking from her grandfather to the elf threatening to harm him, like he was some sort of monster. It causes Fenris to tense a bit, his grip on the pitchfork tightening.

In a surprising turn of events, Fenris retracts, tossing the pitchfork well out of anyone's reach before wordlessly grabbing his sword and heading towards the girl. The old man grunts in pain as he tries to pull himself off the ground, warning the elf against harming the girl. Fenris stopped, glaring down at the meek child before him who shook so harshly, he was surprised the ground below her wasn't also trembling. She doesn't move, doesn't say a word, she just stares, eyes full of tears as she winces, preparing for the worst. When she opens her eyes again, she finds the elf no longer there. In fact, he's no where in sight, leaving only her injured grandfather lying on the ground. She ran to him, crying out in concern and fear as she tries to help him now that the crisis was averted.

The elf decided he'd stay away from stables from then on.

You know, Fenris never really cared for wine at first. He only really took a taste in secret after Danarius had purposely made the elf serve his guests, finding entertainment out of the fear his 'pet' invoked. But now? It was amazing how much the man could put away. His habit had started out of spite, of course, raiding the cellar because he could and very well would just to get back at the bastard in any way he could, now he just drank because... well it was comforting, strangely enough. His markings hurt less, his thoughts weren't corrupted with his inner demons, and he felt like he could just relax a bit, something the warrior could never really say he did much of these days. It was for these very reasons that he drank tonight.

Fenris was tipping back the bottle, making sure to get every last drop before he carelessly tossed the empty bottle at the wall, finding it oddly satisfying. The elf would sigh as he lied back into his chair, the sound almost turning into a purr as he closed his eyes and relished in the buzz that the alcohol was leaving him with. The only issue with being drunk, aside from the inevitable hangover, was that it did a man no favor when it came to fighting. Had he known he would have been having guests, he might have made a much wiser decision, such as not being unarmed and intoxicated. He'd learn the painful lesson soon enough, ears twitching to the sound of footsteps approaching. "I don't believe I sent out an invite for strangers." he mutters unamused. "To mages no less." he adds, the word mage sounding so vile on his tongue.

There were mages as well as a few templars, all looking at him warily. "Get out before I'll force you out." he orders as he manages to get to his feet. "You'll be coming with us." one of the templars had replied instead and it seemed being 'polite' wouldn't do the trick. He might have been unarmed, but he didn't plan on making this easy for them. Already his markings were beginning to glow... though not by his own accord. The magic in the air seemed to be causing the lyrium in his skin to awaken, and when his eyes lied on the source, they narrowed with fury. "Blood magic." he hissed, far more familiar with the practice than he'd like to be. "I'll kill you where you stand." he threatens, but he barely advances before the mage decides enough was enough, and Fenris, though he struggled, eventually submitted to the darkness, falling unconscious at their feet.

"What?!" The elf looks devastated as he stares at the woman he'd come to secretly admire, not able to understand. His stomach was in knots and it felt like his whole world had turned upside down. Fenris just gawked at her, looking for any sign that this might be one of her cruel jokes, an attempt to poke fun. He would certainly prefer such cruelties to... well.. this. Unfortunately as he stared, looking into her eyes for that sparkle of humor, he found none. In fact, he couldn't even find any sort of sympathy, just a fierce coldness, reminiscent of the chains he once bore, and apparently would soon enough...

"You're on your own, Fenris." the Champion had curtly replied, not showing even the slightest sign of guilt about giving him up to his master. He... He should have known. How could he be so stupid as to believe otherwise? And the worst part of it all was that he was genuinely hurt by it, the betrayal cutting him deeper than he could have imagined. And she didn't even bat an eye, the runaway elf looking down to his feet as Danarius goaded on, seeming quite pleased with the change of events.

He should fight, run away to be free another day! But.. he just couldn't muster up the desire. What was the point? He was so tired of running, tired of being betrayed. So, he did the only sensible thing he could. "...I'll go..." he sighed heavily, pain in his voice as he kept his eyes glued to the floor. Even after all these years, he fell right back into routine. Head down, follow orders, suffer in silence. And so he did, clenching his fists as he stared at his feet, trying to tone out as Hawke and his master discussed a reward. Did she even care? Did she even know what she was sending him into? He wanted nothing more than to stop thinking, to forget any of this ever happened. FOr once, he looked forward to having his memory wiped clean, and maybe then it would stop this strong ache in his chest.

Soon enough they would be off and Fenris, despite his judgement, looked up just for a moment, hoping to see something from her. That smug smile of hers was all he needed to see, lowering his head again as he followed his master along, like the obedient slave he was and always would be.

"Do you like anything?" the exasperated 'witch' had asked the brooding elf, trying so hard to be friends with him, to understand him at least, only for him to curtly push Merrill away. She never could seem to understand why he hated her so, though he'd insist it was her constant prodding, among other things. But rather than try to start something else, he simply answered, "I like quiet."


Another 'successful' mission with Hawke's company, odd errands requested by the Captain of the Guard herself. With nothing else to do for the day, the elf had excused himself from the party banter as they laughed over drinks. It was beginning to get a bit too loud for his tastes and he'd decided he wanted to retire for the evening, despite a few drunken attempts to persuade him otherwise from Isabella and Varric. The few who cared waved him off, the others probably relieved to no longer have him in the company. He didn't particularly care either way, stepping outside on the darkening streets.

Most of the commotion came from the tavern as the rest of Lowtown seemed to already be settling in for the night, a habit when thugs like the Carta had often lurked the streets at this hour. They'd mostly disbanded now that Aveline had come into power, but he was certain he could handle a couple low life criminals if they dared to try anything. Again, he wasn't really all that concerned, heading towards the opposite direction of Hightown and instead finding himself at the docks, where the only sound that greeted him was the gently swaying waves brushing against the dock and ships. It was almost peaceful, the elf thought as he sat down on the stairs leading into the Waking Sea, closing his eyes and taking a big breath of the salty air, releasing it in a weary sigh.

Part of him liked this, had a desire to live a far more relaxing life where fighting was no longer a daily thing... "Look what we've got here, boys!" But another part of him knew he wasn't cut out for such a dull lifestyle. "We've got to protect this city at night, how about a little contribution?" the loud one grinned. Fenris wordlessly stood to his feet, and instead of giving them gold, he provided then with an onyx blade.

Things were quiet again, the group of thugs laying at his feet, not having a chance against their target. He wordlessly grabbed up their loot, a hefty bag of coin no doubt stolen from other victims, before heading off, deciding it might be best to alert Aveline of what happened in the morning. For now, it was back to his mansion, and more specifically the cellar where he could drink over his 'good deeds' in peace.

How could he be so stupid? The woman was always flirting and the runaway slave had been so confused by her advances, unable to even imagine someone falling for him in such a manner. Surely she was joking! He even questioned her motives, certain there must have been others who she had her eyes on. But it appeared her intentions were genuine and at some point he found himself admiring her for some damned reason. Somehow, they ended up in a bed together, and... That was it.

Don't get him wrong, he certainly enjoyed himself, and there was nothing wrong with her in the slightest! He just felt... overwhelmed. He had far too much going on at the time and thought it had been a sensible choice to end it there, at least until he could get his life somewhat in order, only to end up regretting it. It was foolish for him to think she would wait for him, especially when there were far better options. But why did it have to be him?

The mage hadn't waited long to take advantage, filling in the empty space that he'd left Hawke with and the two were disgustingly sweet with one another and it made him sick. Had he not been still concerned for her safety, Fenris surely would have left, if not simply avoid the two as much as he could. But he remained, growing ever bitter as Anders seemed to have won, and that blasted abomination wasn't blind to the elf's plight.

"You were an idiot to leave Zaria." He hadn't needed the reminder. "And you were fast enough to replace me." he'd countered, convinced that the mage was only doing this to take advantage of her. It certainly couldn't just be jealousy! But no, Anders insisted it was love, and that only frustrated him more. Rather than admit defeat, Fenris threatened him as per usual, though it lacked it's usual bite. The mage was happy, and he was left feeling absolutely miserable.


"So.. You are living with Hawke now?" he reluctantly asked, hopeful it was just stupid rumors. The two had been together for quite some time now, but the elf still liked to have that damn hope that he still had a chance. "What's it to you?" The warrior tensed and never felt quite so small before. That was it then? He loved that woman but... He wanted her to be happy, even if it was with someone else. "Be good to her..." he'd finally spoken up again, words that appeared to have caught the mage off guard. "Break her heart, and I will kill you." he promised, and for once the mage didn't argue or scoff.