A/N: This idea has been picking at my head for a while now. What if things were different, and Hawke actually met Fenris back before he was Fenris - when he was Leto. What would have happened between them? Updates will happen when I manage to get them out and edited - I will apologize now for the time it takes in between.

That being said, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings for slash (male teenage Hawke/teenage Leto) as well as general perviness on Danarius' part, Hadriana, a little bad language, and teenage hormones. Yay!


Don't Forget My Name

Day One

o-o

Garrett Hawke wasn't sure what to think about that young elven man constantly lingering within arms reach of the pepper-haired Magister.

Danarius called him Leto.

The waif was the only servant he addressed directly or by way of name. Leto never left the Magister's side, nor did he let his attention lapse when attending the man. The barest movement of a hand, or a calculated intonation to the man's voice, an accented word spoken... everything was a deliberate sign for his servant to tend to a need. Leto typically seemed indifferent by the requests of his master, almost bored, but other than that, the boy was a model servant. Danarius regarded him with an air of smug pride, almost like the elf was more than just a skinny kid.

Garrett and his father spent the better portion of the afternoon with Danarius in a lavishly comfortable room; having arrived thoroughly exhausted from the road. Garrett felt like the walking dead and, once tucked away on a plush chaise, it didn't take him long to drift off to sleep in the company of the two aging mages.

The trip from Lothering had been long and gruelling. After docking in Cumberland in the territory of Navarra, they travelled by caravan to meet the Imperial Highway just north and followed it all the way up to Minrathous, stopping only to rest during strict, scheduled periods.

Originally, the whole Hawke family was to make the trip, but the twins fell ill two days before their departure and Leandra insisted she stay with them. Thankful for small miracles, he was glad that it was only he and his father making the journey. Garrett squabbled with Carver, Carver picked on Bethany, Bethany was too used to the comforts of home to be on the road long, and Malcolm had little patience with the three of them in small spaces.

Sometimes Leandra was the only sane person in the family.

If anything, Maker willing, the household would be healthy again once they returned home.

During the trip, Garrett asked about the Tevinter Magister they travelled to meet, though the older Hawke didn't have anything glowing to say, mentioning vaguely that the man was not a credit to his name nor to his station in the Imperium. It wasn't enough to sate his curiosity to hear that Danarius was of an unscrupulous nature, living by the completely different moral code as those from Tevinter Imperium often did from the rest of the world.

After asking why his father still held any social ties at all with the old mage, he insisted he would have had nothing to do with the man if it wasn't for the bond they once held as Master and Apprentice; but he admitted to appreciating the contacts he'd garnered from the time spent in Minrathous. Though, once Malcolm had moved his family to Lothering, when Garrett was yet a babe, that bond was severed. He still held good standing within society, but his father hadn't sought fame and fortune through his alliance with the older mage like other apprentices before him. All the young mage sought at the time was knowledge. And when that knowledge began down a dark and dangerous path, Malcolm, the ever-steady and practical type, decided the power to be gained was not worth the price to be paid.

That's really all he ever had to say about it. Always so vague, Malcolm didn't volunteer any information about his past with the man unless prompted. Even then it was on a sort of 'need to know' basis, and obviously Garrett, a non-mage, didn't need to know.

In spite of Malcolm's decision to leave the Imperium, the older Magister claimed to be fond of him and insisted that they come to visit now and again.

It had been over fifteen years, and Malcolm decided he could no longer put off a visit.

The only thing that his father was not vague about was his explanation of the differences between servants and slaves. Not particularly familiar with the intricacies of either term, his father was very serious in making sure his son understood the inherent difference.

Servants have a choice to be there, slaves do not.

After hearing what his father had to say about various topics, Garrett didn't relish the thought of having to stay at Danarius' home for the week that was planned.

Being seventeen and restless; sometimes foolhardy, he often found himself in spots of trouble. Malcolm had warned him about the compound; stick close by and don't wander off, especially at night or into places where it was obvious he shouldn't wander into; the usual. Garrett laughed, but Malcolm was uncharacteristically grave while asking for Garrett to promise he'd be careful. After promising to be 'good', his father gave him a tentative clap on the back to break the tension while Garrett rolled his eyes.

He might have been just seventeen, but he was no child. He could take care of himself.

Once Garrett had woken up from his impromptu nap in the parlour, they had lunch, which Leto alone served.

The elf looked like he rarely saw much time out under the Minrathous sun. He was not a sickly sort of pale, but he was definitely fair; looked cared for. His wrists, narrow and delicate, twisted as he meticulously worked at setting plates and refilling glasses of wine in front of the men dining. The boy was a ghost, working silently, tending to their needs before they were even aware of them themselves.

He, himself, hadn't seen many elves before – they were few and far between in Lothering, but the couple he had seen were typical; or so his father claimed. The straight, sturdy bridge of his nose was but one recognizable feature; another was the small, lithe frame and huge, intelligent eyes. His mother, for example, had discouraged Garrett from having many elven friends. He would never understand why elves were sequestered from the rest of society and why they all couldn't just get along together. After all, he didn't have any quarrel with them... but, even as he knew very little about elves in general, he couldn't help but wonder if their lives might be better in the Imperium. Servitude had to be better than destitution, yes?

Probably tired; the product of an addled brain, he caught himself spacing out, staring blankly at the elf.

Both head and eyes tracking Leto until the servant left the room, he felt a sharp kick in his shin from across the table, causing him to jerk upright in his seat. Silverware falling from his fingers, it clattered noisily on the edge of his dinner plate as the sound of Danarius' voice finally broke through his thoughts.

"Young Hawke."

"Ahem. Magister Danarius?"

"I asked you a question."

A touch of pink tinted Garrett's ruddy cheeks, snatching his fork from the soiled tablecloth. "I'm sorry. My mind was... elsewhere. Would you please repeat the question?"

"I was inquiring whether or not you possessed any magical talent."

"Ah, no. Besides Father, my sister Bethany is the only gifted one in our family."

"Your father mentioned that Bethany is a twin. It is uncommon for twins born to a magical bloodline..."

Eyes drifting back towards the door where the servant had made his silent exit, he re-entered the room just as quietly with another bottle of wine in hand. And again Garrett's attention began to stray from the conversation. He could see Leto gliding behind his Master, retrieving a corkscrew from the far side of a small table, to work the stopper as a thick piece of hair fell stubbornly over his downcast eyes.

Only half-aware as Danarius spoke again, Garrett's gaze stayed on the servant. He'd never seen a more captivating individual. Something about that dark hair and bright eye combination was disturbingly magnetic. Everything about the other boy drew his gaze... almost as if he were under a spell...

"Surely they have elves in Ferelden."

He'd registered the comment somewhere in the back of his mind, but it was left floating there in favour of the smooth movements as the wine was poured; gentle sloshing of the liquid hitting the sides of the goblet the only sound in his ear. Hawke caught Leto in a slight smirk from under his curtain of uneven hair. Feeling a slight smile tug at his own lips, as if a shared joke had passed between them, another kick from under the table wiped it off his face.

Eyebrows raised in surprise and confusion, Garrett quickly realized that he'd been staring again. And had been caught this time.

Shit.

"I.. um..."

Malcolm cut him off before he could bumble anymore, and answered smoothly while the teenager bowed his head, falling wisely silent.

"In Ferelden, most elves are either servants, Dalish or city elves that live in Alienages outside of larger human settlements..."

Garrett didn't dare look up for fear his eyes would surely gravitate to him again. In fact, for the rest of his meal he kept his head tilted towards what was served to him, never deviating from the safe path to his plate.

Thankfully, no one addressed him either.

Sleep deprivation was a more formidable foe than he had originally thought if it was causing him to stare so shamelessly at Leto.

Garrett sighed in frustration.

Why couldn't the Magister's favourite servant have been a thick and busty redheaded girl?

With the meal finished, they made their way to another lush parlour, decorated in a more feminine, but still gaudy fashion, where they met with Hadriana, Danarius' apprentice. Garrett had originally intended to try and escape the meeting to go pass out in his room, however, when he saw that the Magister's raven-haired companion was to accompany him, the lad quickly changed his mind.

During the introductions, she was sickeningly sweet and charming, but it was obvious the only ones she didn't charm were young Hawke and Leto. When she swept past the latter, his posture stiffened. And although he never looked directly at her, Garrett noticed she leered openly at him more than once, through intense blue eyes.

Quickly, the mages delved into deep discussion, ignoring the gift-less teenager altogether; something he was thankful for. When people started talking about magic, he usually turned his attention elsewhere or turned his mind off altogether.

Making his way slowly around the room, he examined the layout of the parlour, and some of it's curious artifacts. Having no experience with the local culture, all of the items around the room looked like shiny, gaudy knick-knacks to him.

The most interesting thing were the blue flames that crackled in the stone fireplace, but when he reached out to test their warmth, he found it void of heat. Instead, the release from inside the stone cubby was cool, which obviously assisted in keeping the room itself temperature controlled.

Neat tricks they had here.

If Bethany had seen such a thing she'd be filled with questions, but Garrett wasn't interested. He had never needed to make use of magic, and this unnatural conjuration did nothing to impress; in fact, it had just the opposite affect on the boy. He found the blatant display of magic vulgar. He supposed it was what happened here in a place where magic was so freely used.

Even when he was young, his father never relied on magic as an easy way to heal cuts and bruises, or to do chores, or to even help others. Malcolm insisted that unless it was a dire emergency, things would take care of themselves in due time and without the intervention of magics. There was always a cost to weaving magic. That lesson had been hardest for Bethany to learn, and he supposed that was the way it had to be.

Turning away from the stone, he noticed a glint off the glass from tall, floor to ceiling windows peeking out from behind extravagant drapery. Crossing the room with as little attention drawn to himself as possible – lest he be drawn into a discussion he had no real opinion on – he drew back the curtain, cupping a hand to the glass. It had grown dark while they had taken their meal together, and it was hard to see past the glass against the flickering candlelight.

Suddenly, the weight was lifted from his hand, prompting him to move aside. Garrett watched as Leto secured the curtain with a heavy velvet tie, leaning past him and into the window, he deftly unlatched it, pulling one side open, then the other. Once again, his amber eyes halted stubbornly on the form as it withdrew. A warm breeze, heavily scented from the flower gardens outside, wafted between them.

Danarius' obviously favoured servant was too close to him, and the collar of his vestment suddenly too tight. Garrett's tongue swelled in his mouth, finding the one phrase of gratitude his mother taught to him before he could say much else, stuck irritatingly behind it.

The elf didn't broach the silence, nor look him in the eye, though he did offer the caramel haired Ferelden a goblet of drink, which was gratefully accepted; almost like Leto knew he'd need it to soothe his parched throat.

For another moment longer, Garrett watched the agile elf as he went on about his business, sipping casually; thankfully even if he hadn't been able to give thanks aloud. Although, at this point in time, his 'business' was to stand in the corner stone-faced while Hadriana droned on about this and that.

That woman's laugh could have peeled wallpaper from the wall, but his father was encouraging the charlatan in a fashion that made him cringe.

He'd always suspected his father was charming. How else would he have gotten his mother, an educated woman of the highly respected Amells of Kirkwall, to run away with him; a swimming-upstream-the-wrong-way Magister's apprentice? Apparently Malcolm hadn't forgone his wily, charismatic charm... leaving Garrett to wonder if all Magisters and their apprentices were talented actors.

The ostentatious air in the room was suffocating.

At least now there was something else on which he could fixate. Danarius had given them a tour of his grounds when they'd arrived earlier in the afternoon, and Garrett possessed an interest in gardening; something he'd inherited from his mother that he'd never admit to anyone outside of his family. Drawing in deep lungfuls of night air through his nose, the bouquet in the evening was complex and intoxicating. He guessed it was a mixture of many of the different types of flora that flourished here in the arid weather.

Like many firsts this place seemed determined to show him, he'd never smelled anything like it.

In fact, almost all of the flowerbeds and bushes were ones that he'd never seen before and expanded far passed the regular tour route. There were a couple varieties that were familiar; their cooler weather cousins making homes in and around Ferelden, but for the most part they were all beautifully unique to him.

He'd have to take some time for himself tomorrow and have his way with Danarius' garden.

Alone and ridicule free.

Scanning the area one last time, he came to the edge of the window frame, and noticed Leto's reflection in the glass from his rigid stance on the other side of the room.

Yes, indeed. There were many strange and intriguing things here in the Tevinter Imperium.

As if he'd said something aloud, the near-whispered, thick words of his host beside his ear prompted his gut to clench.

"He's captivating, isn't he? My Leto."

When had Danarius snuck up on him; gotten so close? Garrett swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry again. He'd even been staring at the elf's reflection!

Did the elf's master know?

Could he read minds?

No. Maker, he hoped not! Malcolm had not warned him of any such magic... though perhaps a little paranoia was healthy.

Trying to look unaffected, but not sure he could be trusted to open his mouth, Garrett turned halfway to the Magister knowing he wouldn't get away with silence.

"H-he's uh, elven, isn't he?" Taking a quick sip of wine to dampen his parched throat, the young man fought down the rising of something foreign in his chest. Whether it was disgust at Danarius' proximity or reaction to the truth being spoken aloud, he couldn't be sure. It was almost like he plucked the word from Garrett's thoughts.

"He is." Danarius almost purred, leaning closer, hot breath puffing over the shell of his ear. "If you like, I will send him to your chambers after you've retired."

Sputtering on that sip, he forced the wine down. Though, it was then that Leto chose to look over at the sudden noise – but thankfully the two chatterboxes paid no mind.

His face, he feared, was most certainly flushed, and once those green eyes locked with his, it only got worse. Leto broke contact casually, barely reacting to the heat on Garrett's cheeks, retreating back to staring at the wall in front of him, awaiting any order from his master.

"Uh.. thank you for your hospitality, Magister, but I'm fine." he managed to mumble.

An overly loud cluck of the old man's tongue drew those green eyes again – also this time a flicker of blue from that woman – and Hawke could hear the sick little smile. "Ah. Pity. He's rather good with his hands."

Gritting his teeth, Garrett held his tongue. His father had given him a crash-course of what the differences between Danarius' slaves were in comparison to a regular servant, but Garrett could have cared less then. Now, however, it mattered very much that the 'captivating' elf's master had just offered him up like a side of beef at market. Could Garrett have made a huge mistake in assuming that Leto was a servant and not a slave? Not that that made a difference when it came to reality. Not only was he a foreigner, but he was also a nobody with no magical talent to speak of; he wouldn't even be in the Magister's home without his father's influence.

While in the Tevinter Imperium, it was probably wise for him to remember that he was lower than the lowest station.

Danarius practically sashayed away from the young man, much to Garrett's relief, but the heat of embarrassment did not vacate. He would keep his thoughts to himself, but just who did Danarius think he was to offer a person up just like that...?

Clearing his throat inadvertently drew his father's attention.

"Son? Are you well?" Fussed Malcolm good-naturedly, though shooting a serious gaze meant only for his son. "Take that vest off, or you'll die of heat!"

"Yes. Indeed." replied Garrett, voice cracking, only adding to his immense embarrassment.

"Even as a tot he was overdressed!" Turning back to the other adults, he continued. "Always too self-conscious to run around in nappies like the other children his age."

The more his father blathered, the more Danarius and Hadriana laughed, and the more they laughed the more he wanted to hide under one of the expensively dressed tables in the room until the blushing stopped.

Trying to ignore the admittedly harmless teasing, he stripped the quilted leather off, peeking once at the pale elf.

To his surprise, Leto was watching him.

The realization unwittingly thrilled him, even though he was thoroughly embarrassed and self-conscious, encouraging the heat in his body to linger even longer.

Leaning against the wall by the window, the breeze gifted a slight reprieve from the deeply rooted heat, fluttering the loose cotton blouse blissfully against his damp skin. Closing his eyes in an attempt to shut out the environment and concentrate on the shifting of the fabric, or the sound of the wind gently against his ear, everything was blank behind his lids until Leto again invaded his mind. Fair skin the backdrop to deliciously dark hair and fathomless tourmaline eyes, the expression his mind pasted on the elven's face was one he'd surely not see from the male during his stay. Disturbed that his brain would inject such a sultry image into his mind, his eyes snapped open, only to see the real Leto still watching him in the window's uneven reflection.

Danarius got to his feet, his father rising out of respect, while the harpy rose probably because she was obligated to do so.

"I believe it is time to retire." he announced to the room. Shifting his eyes toward the window he smirked slightly. "Stay and enjoy the view, Garrett, if you please. While you are my guests, my home is your home."

Nodding congenially, Malcolm spoke for them both. "Thank you Danarius. It is good to see you again." Turning toward Hadriana, she offered a pale hand. "And you, my lady..." Accepting the perfectly manicured hand of the contrived apprentice, he raised her knuckles to his lips, though they barely brushed her skin. "Until tomorrow."

Before exiting the room, the greying Magister stopped and whispered into Leto's ear, trailing a withering hand up his slim forearm, causing the elf to glance down almost bashfully at the carpeted floor.

Leto might have been a slave, but as far as Garrett saw, he was the favourite. Not that it was any of his business, and not that he should have cared. But allowing his mind to wander and connect some dots; after witnessing several exchanges – and being part of one such suspicious exchange – it was plausible Leto might have been more than just a favoured attendant. But he couldn't get his father's words out of his head.

Servants have a choice to be there, slaves do not.

Did that mean Leto...?

"Garrett. Let us retire as well."

"Yes, father."

"Good eve, Serah Hawke." Hadriana drawled, smiling sweetly after the older man; voice drying up as Garrett passed, turning her back before he was even out the door. "Young Hawke."

While passing over the threshold, Garrett stole one last look at the dark haired slave.

Leto kept his eyes hidden behind that curtain of hair, and the rest of his face drawn, but his hands were balled into fists. That small difference was the only real emotion he'd seen from Leto all day, and it left Garrett with a rock in his stomach.


Once out of earshot, Garrett chose to speak lowly to his father as they made their way to their guest rooms. "Ugh. If I were you, I'd want to wipe my mouth after kissing that woman's hand."

Malcolm chuckled quietly, nodding his head. His father's voice was serious, however. "And if I were you, son, I'd stop staring at that slave."

"I wasn't just imaging that then? I didn't realize he was a slave until..." That heat returned to his face yet again, silently remembering Danarius' offer; his mouth opening before he could stop it. "I've just never seen anything like him before, father. There's something about him..." He knew it wasn't just that; he knew that he found the elf more than just a novelty.

He would never admit it to anyone else, but Danarius had been correct when he referred to the other boy as 'captivating'. Those bright, intelligent, knowing eyes, that thick, almost black hair; figure smaller than Garrett's, much more lithe with long, lean muscles. He moved so gracefully, carrying out his duties as though he had wings. The only piece of the puzzle that was missing was that he never spoke.

Through the whole day, Leto had failed to utter a single word and he still had Garrett holding his breath in anticipation.

"And anyway..." Garrett muttered, attempting to rein in his thoughts "You know mother doesn't like us to keep company with elves."

The hallway felt stuffy. Minrathous' climate was hot. If it wasn't hot, then it was warm; usually arid, sometimes humid in the rainy season, but always searing hot. His shirt, dried slightly from the breeze in the salon, was starting to stick to his skin again. Reaching under the hem, he pulled it out repeatedly, catching air underneath it to cool himself.

Looking down, he stopped walking and sighed. "Father. My vest. I left it in the sitting room."

Fatigue was heavy in his feet, and he didn't know if he'd even make it back to the room without falling over.

"A maid is probably cleaning the room already. I'm sure you will see it tomorrow."

Garrett sighed in resignation, nodding. The duo continued their journey down the hall. Step after step, something in the back of his mind nagged him, halting his feet again. Perhaps someone still occupied the gaudy space."I'd rather get it now..." leaning towards his father, his voice turned to a whisper. "...so that it doesn't get any Hadriana on it."

Malcolm laughed a little louder than he should have at that, and shooed his son off down the hall. "Fine. Fine. You know where your room is?"

"Right beside yours?" he called back cheekily.

Making his way back down the dim hall, footsteps strangely light, passing shadowed artwork on the wall, vase stands, plants and doors, he finally saw the brighter light of the room they'd come from. If it wasn't for the relatively short distance he'd gotten before realizing the article was missing, he might have found himself lost for his trouble.

Hadriana's irritating voice caught his ear, coming from the room, sounding a bit strained. Though, he couldn't make out anything she said.

Peeking around the corner into the room, he witnessed the serpentine woman knock a tray of goblets, some fuller than others, from the tray perched on Leto's hand, sending ruby liquid splattering unequally over pricey furniture and carpeting. Even before the cups stopped rolling, Leto dropped to his knees, pulling off his own shirt to sop up what he could of the wine.

Thrusting her hands into his hair, she jerked his head back to hiss in his face, the sharp pain obvious in the squinting of his eyes. However, Leto gave no vocal indication of any discomfort.

Flattening himself against the wall beside the door, Garrett could only eavesdrop guiltily.

"I saw you looking at that Fereldan half-wit." Words he didn't recognize started flowing from her lips; dialect of the Imperium he supposed. He had heard his father speak Arcanum when he was very young, but he didn't remember it sounding so suggestive. If that was even the right way to describe it's lilt.

A strained grunt came from inside the room. Garrett could imagine her reefing on his hair, his stubborn refusal to respond fueling her rage.

She clucked her tongue in reproach, still speaking in the old way, softer this time around, charming, but menacing. He squinted his eyes as he listened intently, comprehension finally restored to him as she slipped easily back into the common language. "You forget that I will be your next Master... and unlike Danarius... I will not turn a blind eye while you bat those pretty elven lashes of yours."

Anger flared in his chest. She wasn't being fair! The elf hadn't done anything improper. In fact, if anyone had been acting outside of acceptable social norms, it had been him. Staring blatantly, embarrassing his father, falling asleep in the Magister's parlour... and apparently, according to Hadriana, he was a simpleton. Not to mention anything else she might have said just a moment ago.

It appears I've made quite the impression...

The only thing he could do was hope his timely presence might save Leto a little bit of unnecessary ridicule and trouble. Reappearing just over the threshold, he cleared his throat awkwardly, two sets of eyes turning his way, the elf's black strands falling from her slackened grasp.

"Sorry to disturb, but the half-wit forgot his vest in here..." He dare not say more, and even though he really wanted to say something to Hadriana, he already had accepted that while he was in the Imperium, he was a nobody. And a nobody challenging a Magister's apprentice... well, he was sure any outcome would be bad.

In an ridiculous display of pettiness, while holding the Ferelden's amber eyes, she shoved the boy's head to the side with an open palm, pitching him balance to the floor. Then, with a dramatic huff, Hadriana all but physically pushed Hawke out of the way as she departed, extravagant robes and fur and jewels clinking and trailing behind.

With the snake barely out of the room, Leto rose nimbly, not missing a beat while making a bee-line for Garrett's leather garment.

The automatic action of a trained servant – no, a trained slave, and how Leto just brushed off such demeaning behaviour directed at him, caused his brown brows to furrow. He wasn't just favoured by one Magister, but two?

Garrett wondered just what had the boy done to procure such... luck?

Danarius had been physical with the elf as well, but Hadriana had been violent. It was part of being a slave, Garrett guessed, but he couldn't even begin to imagine what they'd done to him – or would do to him – if he had ever fought back; favourite or not.

Magisters were not to be trifled with; that much he knew.

Bare-chested, the elf's musculature was visible to him now; so very different from his own. Garrett was all bunched muscle and hard planes, taller than most his age; a strapping young fellow. In comparison, Leto was terribly thin, much more slight than the loose fitting linen shirt, once white but now soaked with Agreggio Pavali, let on. His torso was finely crafted, however, obviously fed just enough to keep him in muscle, but nothing extra.

Garrett's voice broke the silence as Leto retrieved the forgotten item; the first thing he'd been able to actually say to the other. "Can I ... help you clean this up?"

At first, Leto seemed genuinely surprised, a thick eyebrow arching ever so slightly before it disappeared and his lips set in a flat line.

"No."

Garrett dumbly took the item when offered, shifting his weight, the coldness of the boy's reply bestowing gooseflesh on his arms despite the heat of the room. "Uh... Of course."

Immediately, Leto went back to sopping up whatever wine he could, and after a telling moment of being properly ignored, Garrett simply nodded, lifting the item slightly in a useless gesture of thanks wondering why he even bothered.

Turning on a heel, he retreated before he could say anything else to unwittingly offend.

It was then he assumed conversation with Leto wouldn't be a defining factor in their encounters.

...But, at least he knew what the elf sounded like now; sort of. The single, absolute syllable had been delivered by a resonant baritone; one he would be hard pressed to banish from his mind in the coming days.

Not only was Garrett's heart throbbing in his chest from the situation and insult – half-wit was he? - and compassion for the young slave, and because of... something nameless – but his mind was spinning, trying to process it all.

Hawke had been confused to start; everything was very different here in Minrathous than back in Lothering. The city was huge, the Magisters were their own keepers, and the Imperial Chantry with it's Tevinter Templars was another beast entirely. Danarius' estate was filled with slaves, some obviously treated better than others. Said master of the house seemed harmless enough, but to Garrett, Hadriana's intentions were more obvious than perhaps she wanted them to be.

With a only vague idea of where he was going, Garrett was glad for the time he had alone with his thoughts. If this first day was any indication, then the rest of the week ought to find him a nervous, frayed mess by the time they set off for home. He could hardly keep everything straight in his head now, but convinced that a good night's sleep would make everything simpler somehow, he couldn't wait to get there.

Glancing down at the piece of clothing clutched in his hand, Garrett Hawke knew two things for certain.

He would end up having a lot of stories to recount when they arrived back in Lothering, and second, by the time he left Minrathous, he wanted to count Leto among his rather short list of friends.

...But if Leto hated him, that goal might be impossible.