Chapter Text
It had been a bad idea to come alone.
Nathaniel and Solana had both told him that, but Alim hadn't listened. It was a simple delivery job, after all, he could handle it by himself. Who cares that it's in Tantervale, right on the border of Tevinter? Alim was a Grey Warden, he could handle himself.
Maybe if it had been Darkspawn and not slavers that would have made a difference.
They'd tailed him out of town, at a distance, never close enough for him to see them, but he'd felt eyes on the back of his head. Alim had assumed they were bandits, following what they thought was an easy mark. A few wards around his camp would be more than enough to dissuade them.
Idiot.
The Tevinter slavers had mages with them, and while Alim hadn't been awake it see it, the wards would have been easily dispelled. He only knew what happened after: he'd been ripped out of his tent, bound and gagged, then thrown unceremoniously over someone's shoulder.
Where they'd taken him, Alim could only guess at. Tevinter would be the ultimate destination, he knew, but they'd stopped and deposited him in what appeared to be a root cellar too soon to have reached the Imperium. A staging location was his guess, somewhere to meet with contacts and pass on contraband cargo to other associates to complete the journey.
They'd known he was a mage and had taken precautions. Even ungagged, Alim was unable to reach the Fade for mana, and he was too weak to do much physically. Based on the number of times he'd been fed since his arrival, Alim estimated he'd been in captivity around a week, and couldn’t imagine it would be much longer until he was dragged back out and across the border.
All in all, things were looking bleak.
So when Alim heard a commotion coming from above his prison, he assumed the reinforcements had arrived and his time was up. When the hatch was opened to pull him out, it would likely be his last chance to escape, but bound and cut off from the Fade what was he to do?
The sounds grew louder and closer. Was that… combat? Alim had been in enough battles to know the sound of steel striking steel, of men yelling for their lives, and this sounded like a brutal one. Struggling against his bindings, Alim began to drag himself across the floor. If forces from the Marches were attacking the Tevinter camp they would likely be completely unaware of his presence, and if there was one thing worse than being hauled into slavery in Tevinter it was being left to starve to death in a tiny cellar in the middle of nowhere. He needed to find some way to make himself known.
“Help!” Alim shouted, still struggling to make his way closer to the hatch. “Hey! Somebody! Let me out!”
Even as he screamed, Alim doubted it was doing any good. The sounds outside were loud, and the hatch sealing him in was heavy, but he wasn’t going to lie down and die. Using the walls to drag himself upright, Alim slammed his shoulder into the hatch. It rumbled more than he would have expected, but stayed closed. “Hey! I’m in here!” He screamed, slamming his shoulder into the wood again. “Help!” The third slam of his body hit wrong and pain exploded in Alim’s shoulder and he collapsed with a scream. He’d probably dislocated his shoulder, he knew, but he couldn’t give up. The sounds outside were fading, as enemy combatants of one side or the other finally fell. If the slavers were winning, that would be bad, and making a ruckus would probably earn him a beating, but he couldn’t worry about that possibility, not when if the slavers weren’t winning this would be the best time for whoever had arrived to hear him.
“Help!” His throat burned and his shoulder screamed in pain as Alim rolled up to his knees again. “Get me out of here!”
Suddenly, something changed. It was almost like a shift in the atmosphere, like thin air suddenly becoming easy to breathe. The Fade rushed back to Alim like the tide coming in and he gasped as the familiar feeling of it tickled along his skin.
Whoever was responsible for the nullifying spell must be dead. That was excellent news.
The fire he summoned to his hands burnt his wrists, but it ate up the ropes holding him as well, so it was an acceptable side effect. It also released some of the tension on his dislocated shoulder, letting it swing free and drawing another scream of pain from the man before he stabilized it with his good arm.
One good casting of stone fist would surely blast the hatch open, but without his staff the casting would be difficult, and more than a little dangerous. Alim took a deep breath, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as he began to draw mana to himself, priming the explosive spell and saying a small prayer to whoever might be listening that he didn't blow himself to smithereens.
“Alim?” A muffled voice from outside the cellar broke Alim's concentration. “Alim Surana? You alive?”
“Y—yes!” Alim started, stumbling closer to the door. “I'm here!” He didn't recognize the voice, but if the speaker knew his name that was a good sign.
There was a moment of silence, then the voice was closer. “Stand back from the hatch,” it said gruffly.
Alim barely had time to scramble backwards before the blade of a massive sword collided with the wooden hatch, its tip piercing clean through the thick wood. With a grunt it was retracted, then someone on the other side hauled the hatch open.
Bright sunlight flooded the cellar and Alim hissed, attempting to shield his eyes without releasing his injured arm. It was reminiscent of returning to the surface after a Deep Roads expedition, and filled Alim with the same deep relief.
“You’re not dead,” the silhouetted figure in the door commented. “Good.”
Alim blinked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the light. He had expected Wardens or possibly a battalion from one of the city-states, but the man sheathing his great sword was clearly neither. He continued blinking, now in surprise, as he examined the pointed ears, shock of white hair, and the blue-tinted tattoos that covered his rescuer.
“Do you intend to stand there staring at me all day?” The man asked sharply.
Alim shook himself, wincing slightly as his arm moved. “Sorry! Or, what I mean to say is thank you. I don't mean to stare, I just was expecting someone else.”
“Wardens?” The elf smirked. “Anders asked me to come.”
Despite everything, a smile broke across Alim's face. “Anders! How is he? Doing well I hope?”
Scoffing, the man shook his head. “Better than you currently,” he remarked. “Come on.” He gestured sharply with his head before turning his back on Alim.
Following after the man, Alim squinted in the sunlight as he examined the area outside the cellar. It appeared that before the slavers had taken over it had been a farm of some kind, but it was mostly grown over and creaking with decay. The bodies stood out more than the dilapidated buildings, however. Based on the blood and the corpses, the outpost had been well-defended before the attack. He tilted his head curiously. “Uh, where are the rest of your allies?”
The white-haired elf looked back at Alim, a similarly curious expression on his face. “I came with no allies.”
“You mean you…?” Alim looked around at the carnage again. “This was just you?”
The man smirked again. “I have little pity for slavers.”
“Wow,” Alim laughed. “Glad Anders sent you.”
He chuckled, gesturing with his head towards a pack and staff leaned against a crate near the cellar’s entrance. “I assume this gear is yours. We should get moving.”
Glancing at his arm, Alim winced again. “Mind helping me with this first? Just need to slip it back into place.”
The man frowned. “You would not rather wait for a healer to attend to it?”
Alim shook his head. “Rather not travel with it like this. Not the first time, knees are worse.” He gave a half shrug. “I can walk you through it if you need.”
Shaking his head, the elf took hold of Alim’s elbow in one hand and his wrist in the other. “I am familiar with the process,” he explained simply, rotating and lifting Alim's forearm until the shoulder joint slid back into its socket.
Sighing with relief, Alim flexed his arm. “Much appreciated, that was awful.”
The elf nodded. “Tantervale isn’t far, a few hours walk west. The sooner I get you there the sooner I can return to Kirkwall.”
Alim knelt beside the pack, running his hands over its contents and assuring that nothing was missing, then nodded, satisfied that everything was accounted for. “If it’s that close I can manage on my own.”
The man's brows depressed in a frown. “Are you certain?”
Nodding, Alim gave him a bright smile, pulling his gambeson on. “Contrary to the evidence you’ve seen today, I am a Warden and not useless.” Mail and boots came next, both emblazoned with the Grey Warden crest. “They caught me by surprise, but that won’t happen again.”
The elf gave Alim an appraising look then nodded, seeming to come to some conclusion about him. “Very well,” he agreed with a nod. “It was my pleasure to facilitate your liberation.”
He turned and set off towards the treeline as Alim pulled his pack onto his back and plucked his staff from the ground. By the time he straightened up, the man was almost in the shadows of the trees. “Wait!” Alim called in surprise, making the elf stop and look back. “You never gave me your name!”
“Did I not?” He responded wryly. “It's Fenris.”
Alim beamed, raising his empty hand in farewell. “Thank you for the assistance, Fenris. Goodbye!”
Fenris returned the wave, albeit less enthusiastically, then continued on his way out of the glade.
Settling the pack more securely on his back, Alim turned West and, more cautiously than the last time, set out on his own.