Warnings: There are references to sexual abuse in this. Nothing is graphically shown, but it is clear what is going on. Nothing is romanticised, however; this is a life-shattering horror.

Magic and arrows take the archers down, leaving the warriors to deal with the warriors. Behind them a mage in Tevinter robes double over, hit by a bolt of electricity, then retaliate with a spell powered by the blood of his fallen comrades. The unclean scent of it hangs heavy in the air before bringing Anders down.

And it is dark. Dark and heavy and lonely. Dark and on a cold stone floor, his back against the old brick wall, the weight of a whole tower above him. He cannot see his own arms, wrapped around his knees. The air is damp in his lungs and he can almost feel the walls closing in on him, waiting for the tower to come crashing down to bury him here. There is no mana to make a light with, but the feeling of all that stone above and around him is worse and no spell he know can ease that weight. He feel as if he is drowning, more so now than during the escape attempt through the lake when he went under during the last stretch. He cannot hear anything because there is nothing to hear. Not even his own ragged breaths anymore - oh, he is not actually breathing, is he? Did he forget? That must be why he is so dizzy. Or is he dreaming? No, this is solitary. A nightmare, then? How long has he been here? For how long are they going to leave him here? Long enough for him to make a deal with a demon out of desperation for nothing else but to see daylight again? Long enough to give up and bite his own tongue? Long enough to die of old age?

Hawke watch Anders curl up on his side. "A sleep spell? That did not look or feel like one to me." He nudges the mage's knee with his foot but is met with no reaction at all, not even a reflex. "Justice never struck me as someone who would let you sleep on the job, you know."

"His eyes are open, Hawke", Sebastian point out in his polite way. "I do not think he is sleeping."

"Huh." He bends down to take a closer look at him, waving his hand in front of his eyes. No reaction there either, just an unseeing stare. "I guess you are right. Just good old blood magic then?"

"It would appear so. The filthy spell should have worn off now that the caster is dead, however." Fenris pause cleaning his sword - unless...?

"Eh, can not be long then. Should be up and about by the time you're done cleaning."

Anders' head jerked.

"See? Coming around already. Rise and shine!"

Anders' head jerked from the sudden sound of steel against stone. Was there a light...? Finally, some light! The smell of a burning torch. More sounds - the sound of keys clinking against the lock, cell door shrieking in complaint of having been left closed for so long.

"Oh, finally" he manage to croak out, voice hoarser and shakier than he want it to be. "I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten all about me, you know!"

"Never," the templar lingering at the opening says, voice too smooth. And then he step into the cell and close the door behind him.

Anders swallow. The templar puts the torch in the stand carved out for it in the wall. Take the few steps that separate them, kneeling down in front of him. "You are not to be let out yet, little mage. But you must be lonely. I thought I should keep you company for a while. Is that not awfully kind of me?"

"I..." He had not thought his throat could get drier. This is company he would rather not keep, starved for human contact or not.

"Is that a way to address a templar?"

"No, Ser."

"Good mage."

First, the whispering begin. Panic coated whispers of "No Ser, please Ser". Sobs. And then screams and violent thrashing.

Hawke notice Fenris staring at the mage, a horrified look of recognition upon his face.

"Fenris?"

"No Ser, please Ser," Anders insist as he tries to back away from the templar, all the way through the stone wall. Of course it does not work. Not the wall and not the protest. He tries to choke down a sob, watching in horror as the templar remove one of his gauntlets, his ridiculous skirt and the chain mail underneath, before moving on to an attempt to hike up Anders robes. With a grin on his face that take Anders' breath away in the very worst of ways.

"I said NO!" He kicks the templar with all the strength he has left and tries to scramble away, and for the smallest moment there is a sliver of hope - if he can just reach the door - and then the templar grab him and strike him at the back of his head, pressing him down face first on the floor. His nose hurts. His lungs hurts, his throat - what was that noise? Was that him screaming?

Another blow to his head. "I want no such noise from you, mage." Oh. So he had been screaming. He had not noticed.

"No -!"

"And you are to address me as is proper, mage. Do you want to be reported for bad behaviour? Do you wish to remain down here even longer?"

"No -"

Another blow. "No what, mage?"

"No, Ser. I am sorry, Ser."

"I want to be able to give a report on how good you have been. And that is what you want as well, is that not right, mage?"

"Yes, Ser. Please, Ser! I am sorry, Ser. Please forgive me, Ser."

A repulsive, gentle pat on his head. Robes hiked up. "Good mage." Pain.

Now he does notice himself screaming. And after yet another blow, he stick to the most silent tears he can manage.

"I... recognise this spell", Fenris admit slowly. "He is... reliving an unpleasant memory. It is useful for punishing valuable slaves. Pain and horror but no lasting physical damage."

Sebastian give him an uncertain look, unasked question hanging in the air.

And the nature of the memory Anders is currently trapped in is clear.

"I do not understand", Sebastian mumbles anyhow. "He said he had been fortunate..."

After a moment of silence, eyes still on Anders' thrashing form, Fenris speak again. "I imagine he would consider himself such. He did get away in the end."

The weight of the templar pounding into him is heavier than the stone above. It hurts, so much more than being lashed but different, and he can feel blood. His blood and it is in the wrong place, no longer inside him, but he is not going to use it. And he is not going to bite his tongue. He is going to get out.

They all stare at him in horror. The crying has stopped now, but for all they know it might start again. It has before. But for now he is staring up at the sky, eyes unseeing. Perhaps Merrill possess the knowledge to break a spell such as this, but she is not with them and so all they can do is wait. To carry him back to Kirkwall is not an option due to the occasional sudden movements, dangerous next to their weapons - and besides, to touch him now would feel wrong.

He is alone again, and the stone does not feel as heavy as before. The bleeding has stopped and the blood has dried. He wish he could heal himself, whatever is hurt inside, both physically and deeper, and the scratches on the outside left from the gauntlet the templar did not care to remove.
Eventually another templar comes for him. This one is a woman, but he flinches at her touch anyway. She knows because there is no way she could not.
But at last he is allowed to leave the small, dark cell. He does not know where he finds the strength to ascend the stairs. She leads him to the baths and he knows from the way no one is looking at him that they know. They all know, and yet they do nothing. He have to get out. He is going to get out and away and it does not matter to where, just somewhere where no one knows. He curls up in the bath, and he does not remember closing his eyes, but he is trying to open them. He is trying to open them and -

He manages to get them open or perhaps they already were and he is finally somewhere else, but when his eyes meet Fenris', he knows that he is once more in a place where everyone knows. And he has nowhere else to go.

After that he cannot bring himself to look at the others. He cannot talk either, although they try. It is easier to not talk about it, because he never truly learned how to do it in the first place. But before retreating into himself, he did notice something close to understanding in Fenris' eyes. Not acceptance or respect, but understanding. And that makes the silent walk back easier to bear, Fenris for once next to him. Close to the city he manages to choke out, "I never knew there was a spell like that. That magic could do that."

Fenris nods. "I did not... realise that the templars... with no repercussions?"

Anders nods once, keeping his eyes on the ground. "No repercussions."