samahl | for fenris

for fenris

Magister Anguis had once belonged to an impressive Tevinter household. Once upon a time, the name had had weight and power behind it. Now, though he still had the title of Magister, it was widely known that his house was deeply in debt. He had sold most of his estate and slaves in effort to save face, keeping only a small house close to the edge of the Starkhaven border and three slaves; one young maid, a footman, and his most prized possession, a Dalish elf whom he kept close to him nearly every moment.

The Dalish elf was called Cervi by the Magister but that was not the name given to him by his Clan. It had been years since he had been called his given name and though Cyril kept it in his heart he was rather protective of who knew it. The two other elven slaves who tended to the house were teenagers, Cassia and Viridi, and even they knew him only by the name their master had given him.

The summer of 9:40 Dragon had been remarkable so far because the south had been plunged to chaos since the Nevarran Accords had been annulled. They were at war, with mages and templars bring death and fire every where they went. That and the tensions between the Empress and her cousin had boiled over into a Civil War that ravaged the Dales.

Chaos in the South brought profit for Tevinter, and Master Anguis had wanted to take advantage of that. He had been so desperate to regain his family's standings that he had even crossed the border into Starkhaven. He allied himself with mercenaries turned slavers and preyed on those caught up in the chaos. He was so set in the idea of finding a fortune by selling the disenfranchised that he had even brought Cassia, Viridi, and 'Cervi' with him - ignoring the fact that technically once they crossed the border the three were technically no longer in bondage. To him they were property, and always would be.

The night was warm, but not nearly as hot as it would have been north of Vyrantium. Cyril was finishing up setting up a bath that he and Anguis would have shared. Cassia and Viridi were cleaning up in the kitchen after creating a modest meal for their master. The Magister was in his study going over papers that tracked the transportation of the slaves his men had found.

He had no idea that those men were now likely dead, nor that the one who had attacked them had found information on him and his location. No one in the house would have dared to believe that the Magister would not make it through the night.

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It was a grim business, the duty Fenris had taken up since the fall of Kirkwall. For a long time, he had been lost. He rarely returned to the city- only to visit Aveline and Donnic, truly. There was little left in Kirkwall any more. But the chaos Anders' actions had wrought had made things worse for those who suffered the most, and finally, finally Fenris found a calling he could answer.

It was rare, during one of his raids of slavers, that he found the magister attached to them. Most stayed safe- in Tevinter, using proxies and puppets to carry out their terrible orders. They were never foolish enough to travel South. This one must be desperate.

He didn't care, of course. The slavers were quick to give up the man who paid them- when your life is on the line, loyalty is poor, and there is no honour amongst thieves. Fenris was just as quick to repay them with ending their lives. He never promised they could live if they told him what he wanted to know. And so, he found himself at the house the magister was staying at. This, at least, would be the end of one line. He was surprised by the lack of guards. It was either arrogance or poverty which kept the magister unguarded- he wasn't sure which, he didn't care, it would end the same either way.

He slipped into a window, silent, deadly, focused. It wasn't hard to find the magister. It was pathetically easy, in fact. Fenris had been spoiling for a fight and found nothing. It didn't matter. He didn't stop for gloating or an angry monologue. He surged forward, lyrium flashing, ending it with a gurgled scream from the man. He let the magister drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes, dropping the man's heart on top of him with a wet plop.

He tensed, listening- just in case there WERE guards. Or...well. Others. He'd have to deal with any slaves in the house. Sebastian could help there, at least HIS ties with the prince weren't completely rotten. Sebastian would help them. He was sure of it.

Cyril hadn't heard a single disturbance in the house and had no idea that his life would change yet again that night.

He finished the bath and stood to go retrieve the Magister. He didn't knock, because he so rarely had to these days, and instead opened the door to the study to find a rather gruesome scene.

Magister Anguis was dead where he sat, a hole where his heart should be. Cyril stood in the doorway utterly frozen, as if he wasn't exactly sure how to respond.

For his part, the elf was obviously dressed in the manner of a pleasure slave. He had a gold collar and thin robes which exposed more of his lithe body than they hid. He seemed to be no threat to Fenris, just unable to fully process just what he was seeing.

Fenris turned sharply, lyrium flickering to life, ready for battle- rage flashing across his features- all of which faded quickly when he caught sight of the other elf. He eased from his fighting stance, shifting his posture to something less threatening. His eyes flicked over, taking in the outfit, his lip curling in contempt. The magsiters would never change.

"This man is dead."

He breaks the silence with the obvious. He keeps his distance, for now. His tone isn't gentle, but it never is. He's all business. He needs to get this one and any other slaves out of here and somewhere where they can get their lives back on track- preferably before any other magisters come sniffing around to snatch up some adrift 'lost property'.

"You are no longer owned by anyone. Are there any other slaves in the household?"

Cyril didn't seem to even notice Fenris until he spoke, and then his attention slowly pulled itself away from the Magister's dead form to focus on the elf. There was so much unusual about him, but also so much that hinted to Tevinter.

"Who are you? Who sent you?" The stranger might be claiming the idea that the slaves in this house are free now, but that could just as easily be a ploy to round up the slaves and murder them. That would be the sort of thing that another magister, one trying to eliminate the remainder of the Anguis household, would sent an assassin to do.

"No one. I came of my own accord."

True enough. He stepped over the body, not paying it any more mind. It could rot where it lay. He stopped once he'd crossed it though, hands raised, calm.

"I have been slaughtering people like him for many years. I have a contact in Starkhaven who can get you and any of the others into safe accommodation, Give you a pittance to start up on. But we will have to move fast- his death will not be ignored for long."

Cyril made a noise in his throat though it was difficult to pinpoint exactly what it expressed - disbelief that anyone would be do such a thing, relief that the idea that freedom was at hand, joy at seeing the man who had owned him for so long dead, or all of them mixed together.

He still wasn't entirely sure this all wasn't a dream or a test. Perhaps his master had conjured a demon to give him illusions of what we secretly hoped.

If that was the case, life would be miserable as he was punished for giving into it. "There are two others, a young girl and boy. I should probably explain this to them. They were both born in captivity and know nothing else." The markings on his face were a sign that he had been born into freedom and even come of age there.

Those were certainly Dalish markings- he couldn't name the clan, even if he tried- nor the god they were associated with. That was and never would be an area Fenris cared about. If needs be, he could always track down Merrill. She could...help. Probably.

He nodded. Glad for the information.

"Good. They will need to be eased into the idea, they will likely rail against it at first. The loyalty is cut deep into you. They will have no concept of what their life could be like free form their chains. Still, if they need to come to terms with it on the road, so be it."

He spoke with horrid, solid experience.

Cyril didn't respond right away. Instead, his attention turned back to the corspe at the desk. After a second or two, something seemed to come to mind.

"If you really are hunting more men like him, we should take his papers. There's information about the slave trade in this area." He crossed over to the desk and shifted through some of the paper work that the magister had been looking through. He found the ones that would be most applicable and piled them up.

Before he turned to leave he paused, and spat in the face of the dead man.

"Good. That's actually very helpful," Fenris crossed the room, taking the papers with a firm nod. "I will be sure to follow these leads, none of them will survive to the end of the month, if we are fortunate."

He watched Cyril spit on the corpse passively. The magister no doubt deserved it, and if it gave the other elf some catharsis, then all the better. It was a step towards healing.

"I'll wait outside. Don't be too long."

Cyril nodded again, showing he had listened to Fenris, and then made his way to the kitchen. He spoke privately with Cassia and Viridi for nearly half an hour before he finally exited to find Fenris again.

When he discovered the other elf, he looked slightly surprised.

"You're still here," he started, before realizing it was unfair. He looked a little embarrassed at it and then moved on. "They're packing. And Viridi is finding me some clothes." He looked down at the revealing outfit. "As I feel like this getup would stand out."

Fenris looked up from where he'd been sharpening his blade. It was a purposefully nonchalant act, something most wouldn't bother with- an act others would walk right by without thinking any more of it. In truth, he was using it to watch, to be ready for any resistance coming for them.

"Good," he glanced up, a soft huff escaping his lips. "Yes, it would do little for us to keep a low profile. Besides, I am sure you would prefer to wear real clothing again."

Cyril bit his lower lip in thought and then seemed to be building up to asking something.

Finally, he seemed to get the courage to do so. "Can you help me remove this?" he asked, and gestured to the expensive gold collar around his neck. "It's locked on."

Fenris' lips twisted into a sneer at the mention of the collar. It brought back the memories of his own, the heavy weight on his neck, the feeling of missing something when the Fog Warriors broke him free of it. It still left anger in the pit of his stomach. That people were collared like animals.

"Yes. Keep still."

The lyrium flickers to life again as he presses his fingers to the lock. There's a fuzz of magic interference, but Fenris pays it no mind, fingers working into the mechanism and snapping them. The collar drops to the ground, and Fenris pulls his hand away, lyrium fading as he regains some space again.

Cyril took a deep breath once it was off, as if it was the first time in a long time he had been able to do that. His hand moved to his throat as he felt that same sensation of something being missing. It was strange to touch the skin there after it having been covered for so long.

After a moment of marveling at the sensation he turned to look at Fenris.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Fenris inclined his head in way of acknowledgement.

"It is fine. No one deserves to be collared. I wore one of my own, a long time ago. You need not worry about that any more."

Never again. Not for anything. He'd like to say one day it might be the case for all slaves in Tevinter- but Fenris is not so idealistic. He dare not hope for things such as that. He doubts they'll overthrow Tevinter any times soon, the best he can hope for is to chip away at them, one at a time.

"As you said before," Cyril points out, though not without a bit of affection.

"I'm still not entirely sure this whole thing isn't a dream or an hallucination. That's the better than it all being a test that I'm failing miserably right now."

"I think it would be a rather extreme test for any magister to be slaughtered to test the loyalty of those he keeps in chains."

He sighs, putting his sword back onto his back.

"What about you? Do you wish to build a life in Starkhaven? You're blatantly not a city elf."

"This could all be a hallucination or a vision. He might not be dead. You might not be real," Cyril pointed out, with the tone of a man who was a little too used to doubting his own reality.

"But assuming that you are, then for now my goal right now is to make sure that Cassia and Viridi are both safe. I'll go to Starkhaven with you, ensure that they're settled in and cared for." He pressed his lips in thought.

"I'm useless in a city though. The only skills I have would be regulated to a brothel."

"I can understand your scepticism. They are very good at making you believe very much that this is all you will ever be. This, thankfully, is not the case. Not this time."

He gives a nod, understanding, at least a little, It would be like Merrill, but worse. The city would swallow him alive.

"I know a Dalish elf who might be able to help you settle somewhere. Though I would have to locate her first. She moves amongst the clans a lot."

At the suggestion of the clans, Cyril feels a odd ache in his heart. A part of him wants to suggest they find his Clan, but he can't really bring out those words, not yet.

Thankfully, he doesn't have to. A young boy, no more than sixteen, peeks through a door to find them.

"Ah, Cervi. Here you are. I have clothes. They might be long on you, but you can roll up the sleeves." The boy is indeed much lankier than Cyril, but he doesn't seem to mind.

Instead he thanks the boy and crosses over to get the bundle.

Viridi can't really bring himself to look at Fenris, so instead he mumbles about going back to Cassia and then disappears.

Cyril gives Fenris an apologetic look. "They'll get more comfortable, but everything is pretty scary right now. The unknown always is." Then, after a moment, "For now, I should get dressed. Did you have plans for what we should do with the house? Should we burn it or just leave it?"

Fenris doesn't smile at the boy, nor reach out. He just keeps still and quiet, looking off at some middle point in the distance. He only speaks again when Cyril talks to him once more.

"It's understandable. He's being thrust into a world he's never known. I cannot blame him for being cautious. That will likely keep them both alive in the days to come."

He shifts his gaze to the house.

"Leave it. Let them find him, let them know what death is coming their way and let them be afraid."

Cyril looks for a moment as if he might say something else, but instead he disappears to go get dressed. It doesn't take him long and he does have to roll up the legs and sleeves for the outfit to be usable.

After that, he checks to make sure both of the young elves are packed. Now that they're ready, he takes them to go find Fenris again so they can lead the way.

Fenris might notice that while Cassia understands others speaking, when she communicates she does so with gestures of her hands and that Cyril and Viridi both understand the sign language well enough to have a conversation with her. Cyril doesn't bring it up though, and either does Viridi.

"I think we're ready to go," Cyril tells Fenris. "Do you have horses? There are a couple in the stable that I don't think Viridi would want to abandon..."

Viridi nods at that. "We should at least set them free too, if we're not taking them."

That does get an arched eyebrow, but Fenris keeps his peace...at first. He shakes his head.

"No, I don't. If you wish to bring them with you, you can do. Might as well, they could end up being of use to them, in the days ahead."

A horse brings a good price anywhere. Or, they could find good work, with a horse. It's a helpful bonus many don't have. He just hopes they won't be more cumbersome than helpful. He gestures for them to go to the stables, lagging behind a little to have a quiet word to Cyril as they go.

"The girl doesn't speak?"

Cyril looks at Cassia for permission before he answers Fenris. She gives him a nod and then leaves with the boy to get the horses.

Still, Cyril presses his lips together before he starts speaking. There's still too much guilt in this story. It isn't a good one to tell. "When I was first taken, it was shortly after I got my vallaslin. I was barely sixteen. The first week, I attempted to run. After I was caught, the magister took this little girl into my room and promised me if I tried again he'd keep hurting her. Then he cut out her tongue."

Fenris' lips curl into a sneer. He can feel the anger bubbling in him, the dark shadow of his memories with Danarius looming up around him. How many other slaves had he seen suffer for the whims of a magsiter? When one wants to make an example of them.

"I wish I could say I'm surprised. Magisters know no limits to their barbarism- especially when they can disguise it as discipline."

He wishes he could kill men like that twice. Unfortunately, the once will have to do.

"I will see to it that she is not shown prejudice against her for that. My contact will make sure she will still gain good employment."

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