It's been a really long time since I've last writen any fanfiction, but Dragon Age II inspired me. Obviously all the characters belong to Bioware, I'm just playing around with them.
Chapter 1: Freedom Lost
"I've been thinking of you. In fact I've been able to think of little else. Command me to go, and I shall."
His eyes burned with longing and pain. He stood inches away from her, and she could swear he was holding his breath.
"No need." She said, mesmerized by those burning green eyes.
He lunged at her like an arrow loosened from a bow. He kissed her deeply, his arms wrapping around her to hold him tight against her. She barely had the sense to kiss him back…
"This is pointless" Isabella said, breaking Hawke away from her thoughts.
The sun was already beginning to set on what was supposed to be their afternoon meeting location.
"So what's your solution? Give up and go home?" Hawke replied, her tone making it clear what she thought of that plan.
"We've been waiting for hours…" Isabella said, though her resolution seemed to waver under Hakwe's gaze.
"I'll wait here all night if that is what it takes." Hakwe said firmly.
"That will not be necessary m'Serah." A voice said from the shadows.
A man emerged as if from nowhere, his clothes and accent marked him as a free man of Tevinter.
"Magister Deavon?" Hakwe said skeptically, the man did not carry the air of a Magister.
"Oh no," the man chuckled, "I am his apprentice, you did not think the Magister would meet with strangers in the back alleys of some slum, did you?"
Hawke had expected as much.
"Then you will take me to him." She said, making it more of a command then a request.
"That will not be necessary, Serah." Deavon's Apprentice said, "Whatever offer you have for the Magister you can give to me and I will pass it along. We will be in contact if it is an offer he wishes to pursue."
The sneer on his face said he did not think that was likely. Hawke wanted to plant her dagger right in the middle of that face, but that would get her nowhere. She took a deep breath to compose herself before moving forward.
"Is the Magister his aware of who I am?" She said taking a threatening step towards him, "Is he aware of what I'm capable of?"
She pointed towards the smoldering ruins of the Chantry. Of course, that was Anders handy work, not hers, but the rumors told it differently. She was not above taking advantage of those rumors for intimidation.
"I will tear this city apart to find him," She continued menacingly, "All I ask of the Magister is an audience, and I shall have it."
"Now, now." He said, the sneer on his face faltering briefly, "There is no need for threats. I suppose the Magister could make time for someone of your… influence."
As if summoned from thin air, three more men appeared from the shadows. The first man made a move towards Hawk, she moved away quickly drawing one of her daggers.
"Serah, you cannot expect us to reveal the Magister's location." Deavon's Apprentice said, "You must wear a blindfold. Additionally we must ask you to relinquish your weapons."
"Nah, if you want to take my weapons you'll have to pry them out of my cold, dead fingers." Isabella said, drawing her own twin blades.
Hawke felt a cold pit growing in her stomach. The situation had long since passed suspicious, but what choice did she have? She drew her other dagger and threw her weapons to the ground.
"This is crazy!" Isabella cried, "So he just happened to bring big guys with blindfolds, even though he had no intention of bringing us to the Magister? Something shady's going on here."
"Issie, I need to do this and I need you with me." Hawke said under her breath, "You owe me."
"Dammit Hawke," she mumbled letting her daggers fall out of her hands.
The men threw thick sacks over their heads and pushed them along. They walked for what had to be nearly an hour. Hawke was certain they doubled back a couple times and by the time they stopped Hawke was thoroughly lost. Once they pulled the sack off her head she scanned the room trying to figure out where they were. She had to hand it to the Magister the location was deftly chosen. The walls were cloaked in darkness and the stone floors could have just as easily been a wine cellar near the docks as it could be the basement of a high town estate. Candle stands light a space around a finely crafted chair. In the chair sat a man wearing robes of rich red velvets and cloth of gold.
"Magister Deavon, I presume." Hawke said dryly.
"You presume correctly." The Magister replied, "It seems you are full of presumptions. Well allow me to set you straight, I have condescended to hear you but I will not be browbeaten like my Apprentice."
The sound of bowstrings being drawn cut through the room. Numerous arrowheads reflecting the candlelight glinted in the shadows like stars in the sky. The slim hope she had of fighting her way out was crushed. She glanced back and met Isabella's eyes, I-told-you-so was written there as plainly as if she had spoken it aloud.
"I want to see him." Hawke said putting on the air of confidence she didn't feel.
"And why should I allow that?" the Magister asked with an amused grin on his face.
"Before I can make my offer, I need to see for myself that he is still alive." She replied.
"Very well," the Magister said with an indulgent chuckle.
He signaled to the man servants to his left and a few moments later they returned dragging a slumped figure into the light and dumped it onto the floor. Naked and bound he was in worse shape that Hawke had dared fear. His usually tan colored skin was sickly pale and nasty black bruises covered him from head to toe.
"Fenris!" She gasped her confident façade gone. She rushed forward and fell to her knees beside him, pulling his head up into her lap. His body trembled against her, his wide green eyes were filled with fear and pain. Gone was the strong, confident man prone to terrible fits of rage and passion. Gone was the whirlwind warrior, the wonton lover.
"Hawke?" He whispered through a busted lip. What a mess they had made of those beautiful lips.
"Oh Fenris," she said cupping his cheek in her hand, "What have they done to you?"
"He has developed disregard for the authority of his master." The Magister said unapologetically, "Physical pain and humiliation are the first steps of breaking a brazen spirit."
"We're going to get you out of here." Hawke said, brushing Fenris' hair back away from his face.
"I'm afraid that is not possible," the Magister interjected, "He belonged to my father, and now he belongs to me. He is not for sale."
"Everything has its price." Hawke said not taking her eyes from Fenris, "Everything can be bought and sold."
She tenderly stroked his hair and she could feel his body relaxing. His eyes closed and his head fell back, exposing his throat. Her left hand drifted down towards the knife hidden in her boot. One quick movement across the throat and it would be done. Bitter tears stung her eyes, was this really what it would take for him to find peace at last? And as soon as she was done the arrows would fly and at this range it was a sure shot. Would she have enough time to plant the knife into the Magister's chest before she bled out? She would gladly die right now if it meant the death of the man who had done this to Fenris. But what about Isabella, could she throw away her life too?
"Do you know how Fenris came by his lyrium markings?" The Magister mused, "Every year the people of Tevinter celebrate the Festival of Champions and every Magister puts forth a champion. Hundreds of slaves enter into battle until there is only one survivor. Fenris was not only one of these surviving champions, but he was one of the few to survive receiving his lyrium markings. He is a warrior that knows no superior, and he is not for sale at any price."
Fenris was so peaceful, lying there in her arms. She wanted peace for him and she knew now how to give it to him.
"I am his superior." Hawke said, "I propose a trade."
Fenris' eyes shot open.
"Hawke, no…" He gasped.
"A trade?" The Magister asked his tone betraying his interest.
"Grant Fenris his freedom, and I am yours." She said.
"What?" Isabella broke in.
Hawke shot her a look and she fell into sullen silence.
"NO!" Fenris' deep voice boomed.
She looked down at him, pleased to see him more like his old self. He struggled violently against his bindings a lyrium blue glow surrounding him and his face was contorted into a fiery rage. She put her right arm across his chest and pulled him close.
"I love you." She whispered into his ear. She drew her boot knife and brought the hilt down on his head. His body went limp and she rose to her feet.
"You were supposed to take away their weapons." The Magister said to his apprentice, clearly displeased.
"It is impossible for to two parties to negotiate when one is at the point of a blade." Hawke said, "Now we're both at the point of a blade."
"Forgive me if I still believe I hold the upper hand." The Magister said spreading his hands towards his archers.
"Are you confident they can put me down before I reach you?" Hawke replied, "I'm here to either trade myself into slavery or to die in bloody glory, I think I have the upper hand."
That gave the Magister pause.
"Lyrium warriors are a status symbol in the Imperium." He said slowly, "As imposing as you are, my dear, you are not nearly as valuable. I cannot simply trade him for you."
"What if I were to compete in this Festival of Champions and earn my own lyrium markings?" Hawke asked.
"Even if you defeated all the other champions and survived your wounds," the Magister said, "You would still need to survive receiving the markings, a feat no champion since Fenris has accomplished."
"We are at an impasse then?" Hawke said, twirling the knife around her fingers. An odd peace came over her. Her life was forfeit and all her will was bent towards a single goal.
"Perhaps we could come to some sort of… compromise." The Magister said, eyeing her knife nervously, "Come with me, and if you manage to gain lyrium markings I will relinquish my claim on Fenris."
"Fenris stays here, if I die you can continue your hunt then." Hawke said.
"I have him now, why should I let him go only to recapture him later?" The Magister inquired.
"Because of his, what did you call it? Brazen spirit." Hawke replied, "He has had a taste of freedom, and will never be easy until he is free. I, on the other hand, will be as compliant as you require as long as I know he is safe."
The Magister gave her a hard glare, he seemed to be considering her words for several long moments.
"Fine," He said, "We have a deal."
Hawke turned to Isabella, who was gaping at her openly. She moved in close to Hawke.
"Please tell me you have a plan." She said in a low voice.
"Of course I have a plan," Hawke replied in a hushed tone, "And your part of that plan is to get Fenris out of here. Don't worry about me."
She favored Isabella with a wink as she handed over her knife hilt first. Isabella looked skeptical, but she did not struggle when a guard took her by the arm and lead her out. Another man followed with Fenris slung over his shoulder.
"Goodbye Issie," Hawke said sadly. She felt bad for lying to her, but she knew she couldn't get her to leave any other way.
She looked over to the Magister who wore a look like the cat who got the cream.
"So what now?" Hawke asked.
The Magister nodded at one of his man servants, who stepped forward and punched Hawke hard in the stomach. She doubled over, and boot caught her square in the jaw sending her sprawling to the floor. The taste of blood flooded her mouth.
"You will not speak unless spoken to first," The Magister said sternly, "And you will address me as Master, do you understand?"
"Yes…Master." Hawke said, the word 'master' tasting worse than the blood.
"Yes," The Magister said with a chuckle, "That's better, but let's see if we can't work on that tone."
Another barrage of blows rained down on her. She never felt the majority of them, however, as she lost her slippery grasp on consciousness.