Fenris did go back to his dilapidated mansion in Hightown, but he did not get any rest. He was plagued all night by nightmares. Some of them were the brief glimpses of memory that he had experience that night with Hawke, but most of the nightmares were of Danarius. The man was a monster, brutal and cruel.

Fenris could feel the steel cuffs biting into his wrists as he sat against the cold stone wall. He shivered, the cold easily passed through his plain cotton shirt and breeches. He wondered how long he had been here. Danarius would sometimes lock him up with little or no explanation of his wrong-doing. Perhaps he had spoken out of turn, or to the wrong person. Maybe he had not kept his head low enough and his eyes averted as he should. Fenris raked over his memories again and again, hoping to discover why he had been locked up, but nothing came to mind.

He wanted desperately to hate Danarius, but at the same time he wanted to please the man. He wanted recognition of a good job, or the reward of a little extra food. He was so hungry. When he heard someone approaching from down the hall, Fenris immediately lowered his head, not wanting to look at the person (in case he was not supposed to). At first it had disturbed Fenris that he could not remember who he was, but soon he had settled into a routine of simply trying to please his master so that he might eat and not be beaten. His first awareness had been about a month ago. The markings that were burned into his flesh continued to chafe painfully against most everything, but the worst thing was that they constantly ached. The pain had dulled a little, but was ever present in his mind.

Now he was being escorted through a richly decorated mansion, and he wondered where he was going. He was shown into a very richly decorated bedchamber, with high ceilings and lush tapestries. Danarius was standing near a large bed in the center of the room.

"Good Evening, my little wolf," his voice was cold, but fiercely possessive. "Sit down, have something to eat."

Sure enough, there was a large plate of food sitting at a small table in the corner. The cuffs around Fenris's wrists were connected by a length of chain, so he could clumsily feed himself. He did not even bother to sit down as he grabbed a large slice of bread and began wolfing the food down. Fenris did not even notice Danarius come up behind him, until he felt a cold finger rake down one of the markings on the side of his neck. He flinched away from the touch. It stung and made every marking in his body tingle painfully.

"Turn around," the cold voice ordered.

Fenris dropped the food that he had been holding and turned around to face the magister, though he kept his eyes on the floor.

"I'm so pleased with how our experiment turned out," the magister mused, this time tracing one of Fenris's markings down his neck to the neckline of his shirt.

Fenris jumped as Danarius touched his shirt and it disintegrated. He bit his lower lip, trying to slow his heart rate. He was definitely afraid of this man. Fenris bit down harder, stifling a pained groan as the mage traced the marking down his chest and abdomen.

"It is good that I performed the ritual well before your twentieth year, otherwise the lyrium might not have grafted to the skin quite as…beautifully…"

There was something in the magister's voice that made Fenris's insides squirm.

"Take off your trousers, Fenris," Danarius called, stepping back as though he were admiring a work of art.

Fenris's hands worked of their own volition and soon he was standing naked in the ornate room. Danarius motioned for Fenris to come and the young elf instinctively obeyed, but his sense of dread was growing. The mage regarded him for was seemed like an eternity, then the old man reached out and took Fenris's manhood in hand.

"No…" Fenris growled, his teeth grinding against the pain of the lyrium markings.


Danarius's voice was mild, but there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. He stepped behind the elf and Fenris only saw a faint red glimmer before Danarius touched him on the back of his neck. This time, however, there had been a spell along with the touch. Fenris's knees gave out as searing pain shot through every inch of his body. His hands and knees scraped on the stone floor and began to bleed. No matter how he tried, Fenris could not make his body obey him. He was stuck, frozen in place; first by agony, and then by whatever spell Danarius had used on him.

"You will submit to my every whim, my little wolf," Danarius purred from somewhere behind him. "Now…don't struggle. This doesn't have to be entirely painful."

Fenris gasped and shot up in bed. He looked around frantically then he sighed in relief when he was sure that he had been dreaming. The elf shuddered. Here he was over a decade and a thousand miles away from what had happened that night and many subsequent nights, but he could still feel the magister's touch. It sickened him. He knew that Danarius would be coming for him soon. If not at the meeting with his sister tomorrow, then some other place and time, but it would be soon.

Fenris was not sure if he was ready to face Danarius, but then he thought of Hawke. He had been wary of the mage at first, but Hawke had proven himself time and again. Fenris felt his chest tighten as he remembered all of the times that Hawke had helped him, and then how they had…He ran his hands briskly through his hair, trying to wipe the memory from his mind.

He had been so confused. Fenris only remembered being touched by Danarius before that night, and that had been painful and demeaning. But with Hawke…Fenris flushed at the memory. With Hawke it had been completely different. It was fast, frantic, and…passionate. Fenris had hardly noticed the discomfort in his markings. But he did not understand why his memories from before the ritual had come back. Nothing made sense. He was afraid. That was basically the sum of it, Fenris had been afraid, was still afraid, and that was why he distanced himself from Hawke.

Fear seemed like such a clichéd excuse. But Fenris did not know what to do, and he still struggled with trusting mages…even one who had saved his life. Perhaps he was especially mistrustful because of what had been done to him, and because of the horrible things he had seen done by mages in the last few years around Kirkwall.

Fenris lay back down in bed and tried to think positively. Tomorrow he would get to meet his sister, and if all went well she might tell him about his life before the ritual. The elf fell back into a fitful sleep, filled with evil mages and a deep feeling of despair.