Portrayed By Gideon Emery
Faction Warrior
Organization None
Position Mercenary
Sex Male
Race Elf
Age 23
Place of Birth Seheron
Date of Birth 14 Justinian 9:8 Dragon
Mother Antiope
Father Unknown
Siblings Varania
Marital Status Single
Children None
First Appearance Dragon Age 2
Last Appearance Dragon Age: Inquisition (Mentioned)
Themesong Confession - Red

Character History:

Warning: This background contains content of a violent and abusive nature, including sexual violence. Read with awareness.

It's funny how, when viewed through the haze of pain and loss, even those things that are pleasant can turn bitter. But a bitter life is likely not something all that surprising for one born into slavery in Tevinter. Leto, his mother named him. Hidden and forgotten it meant, though she likely didn't know that. Nor could she have known the portents it had for her young son. As he and his sister played in the courtyard, while she did the washing for their Master, she never could have known what that afternoon would mean to him. For it etched into his mind, as he chased his sister through the flowers, the sight of his mother working. How the work etched lines in her face that she was too young for. The sad way she looked at them, though she loved them, knowing their futures were no different than her own. That afternoon instilled in him a want to see her free, a want to give her and his sister the chance to be something other than what they were.

And as he grew, that want only got more fierce. People aren't quiet around slaves. What is a slave going to say? What is more, who would believe the word of a slave? No, they talk freely, scheme openly, perform atrocities without a second thought. And he watched it all, made note of it all, let it fuel his drive. Honestly, he was never all that great of a slave. Always a little too fierce, a little too observant, a little too spirited. So when the day came that Danarius began talking of a competition to be made into something more, into a weapon, in exchange for one boon, Leto couldn't turn it down. He would never be a decent standard slave, and that boon, it could mean his family's freedom. The day of the competition came, and his always slightly too spirited nature served him well. Won with blood, sweat, and tears, Leto none the less won. If you could call it a victory, for all that came after it. His boon was granted, his sister and mother given their freedom. What was offered, though, hadn't been clearly stated upfront. Being a weapon, imbued with lyrium, oh yes, that was explained.


The searing agony of its application, however, was not. How the white hot pain blotted out even the sun, stripped him of his mind, of his memory, of his will to do aught but obey, of even his own name, that had not been on the tin. Even when it was done, the lines upon his flesh burned and stung, agonizing him with every moment, and touch made them sear anew. How the marks and the pain and the trauma would change the way he moved, would make him lope, that wasn't explained. How it would bleach his hair shock white, that wasn't stated. No, all he knew, when he came to, shaking and lost, was Danarius standing before him, smiling. Whether or not the stripping of his memory was intentional, he would never know, but Danarius used it to his advantage. Fenris, he named him then, his Little Wolf. It was Danarius's research, and he knew how it worked. He could ease some of the pain, could touch without making it worse. The training was intensive. Fighting, how to use some of his new power, what Danarius expected of him. For some time, Fenris was an obedient, malleable creature, intent on keeping in the good graces of the man who could ease the pain. Obedient enough, and deft enough in learning, that he pleased Danarius a great deal. And the man was twisted. Someone so obedient, who could be rewarded or punished with his touch alone, it apparently proved too much to quell. Eventually, Danarius ended up taking Fenris to his bed, most often as a sick form of reward.

Wolves are not meant to be caged, though, and over time Fenris began to grate. Still, people spoke in front of the slave. And now, Danarius used him as an enforcer. He was killing people at Danarius's request, and while he said nothing, a seed of rebellion festered in the back of his mind. When he was brought with Danarius to Seheron, though, that seed was given an opportunity. Perhaps he thought him dead, maybe he just didn't care, but Danarius left him for dead, alone and behind, at that battle. Found by Fog Warriors, they took him in. Tended his wounds and training him.

He spent months with them, his first taste of freedom. When Danarius returned, however, having heard of Fenris's survival, to retrieve him, he was shocked still by his Master's arrival. Conditioning is a difficult thing to shake free of, and Danarius held a powerful sway over him still. When the Fog Warriors refused to give him up, Danarius fought. He was injured. And eventually, he ordered Fenris to turn on them. Fenris obeyed.

He would regret that obedience for the rest of his life. With Danarius injured, and with the guilt bitter upon his mind, Fenris took the opportunity to flee. And he ran. And kept running. For a long time.

The following series of events are a chain of the same song and dance over and over. Town to town, nights in alleys, in dark corners, always chased. Here and there he would find mercenary work, earn coin. Eventually, it was a room or two in a tavern. Each time they would find him, and he would run. Once out of Tevinter, he ran to guards, but they only ever slowed him down. Eventually, he stopped asking for help. And each time he would stop, it was longer and longer. He grew tired of running. Each flight was more and more bloody.

Now, finally, his flight has lead him to Kirkwall.


One of the first things people come to know about Fenris is that he is… Not actually the greatest company. He's capable of being polite, even civil in his way, but he is curt, dry, and often more than a little intimidating. Stubborn to a fault, to say he is a nightmare to argue with is an understatement. The opinions of others rarely have much sway in Fenris' ideas of just about anything, and half the time he doesn't even bother to know those other opinions in the first place. His world is what it is, and he will make what decisions about it he likes. Which isn't to say he can't be taught, the elf is too clever by half and much too observant for his own good, but it is very hard to tell him just about anything.

And that gruff exterior is not just for show. Trained extensively as a weapon, Fenris is not one to shy from violence. Ever. In fact, one could call him wholly unrepentant for the amount of death that he has left in his wake. This training shows itself in so many ways. A penchant for growling as a form of communication, an overall lupine manner, and more than a little distrust of just about anyone and anything that he comes across. For all that his violent tendencies might make him seem rash, this is very rarely the case. Things are checked and re-checked a dozen times any time he has the opportunity for such time. He's calculated, measured, and well aware of almost any risk that he takes.

All of that said, under it all Fenris is loyal to a fault. Once you've worked away all the armor and pushed passed the growling, and had the grumpiest wolf of all time let you in, he's fierce and protective, and more thoughtful than some might expect. Just… It's probably best if no one touches him.



Other Information

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