Disclaimer: Bioware own everything, I own nothing. All fun, no profit.

A/N: This is a direct sequel to a fic I wrote filling another kmeme prompt (and I will not be trying to combine two prompts again!). If you don't feel like reading the earlier- T rated- piece (although I do like readers...) I enclose a helpful summary below.

Warnings: This is a dark!fic prob R-rated, torture and/or non-con will be in most chapters. If you do not like or are triggered by anything like this please, please do not read.

Hawke sides with the mages, pisses Sebastian off, gets Anders out of Kirkwall and then bails, disguised, for Ferelden via Starkhaven. Unwittingly rescues Fiona Harriman from blood mages, is presented to Sebastian Vael, becomes Starkhaven's Guard Captain (it would have been a tad awkward to say no), intending to bail again later when war hits. So far so sneaky until a healer and possibly-not-blood mage chooses not to kill him during a fight, and Hawke refuses to hand him over to the templars immediately. While 'explaining' this decision the secretary of Kirkwall's ambassador recognises Hawke and blows his cover. Capture ensues; now read on.


"For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light/ And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost" Chant of Light Canticle of Trials 1:14

-o-o-

Hawke awoke to cold, silence and through slitted eyelids as he lay still, darkness. When he cautiously opened them pitch blackness still surrounded him. Not a hint of light to show where he was, or where the way out might be. He shivered at the chill of the stone underneath him; they'd stripped him down to his breeches. Metal hung at wrists and ankles, a short chain attached the latter to a wall. Carefully one hand outstretched, Hawke groped his way along the wall finding a corner behind him, elsewhere his fingertips found only dressed stone walls and empty air. Stiff muscles protested along with the lingering ache in his skull and the dryness in his mouth. He might have been out for a couple of hours and here could be anywhere. He felt a pang of worry for Perrin and the others left holding the mage, how many of them might be undeservedly caught up in his spiral of destruction.

/Nothing you can do for them now, and you're in far far deeper; worry about yourself. No matter who knows where you are, no-one's coming for you. Screwed up your latest run for the hills, all because you couldn't keep your head down just a little bit longer; no, you had to go and stick your neck out for some total stranger. Again./

This time it was technically two someones, a kick from the present and the past; he remembered her now.

-o-o-

It had been a few months after they'd moved into the estate; she'd been caught sneaking through the kitchens with an ease that said she'd been here before. Eight? Ten? Half-starved it was hard to tell, Maker only knew how she'd kept out of the slavers' grasp. Mother dead, she had a sister to protect; and in Kirkwall's undercity the clichés were true more often than not.

"I can help Messere, in the kitchens, I can cook. An' your bread oven needs fixing, an' the stew needs more spices, an' the meat in th' locker needs using or she's the only one what'll be eatin' it" gesturing to Elka. In the pause following this outpouring of information Elka decided that this last snippet was the most relevant, moving to gently butt her head against the side of the girl's. Or perhaps she'd sensed something the rest of them hadn't, Hawke didn't miss the grimace of pain that crossed the dirt smudged face, or the barely audible whimper. When Hawke removed the ragged strip of cloth acting as a headscarf the reason became horribly obvious; someone had made the epithet 'flat ear' literal- with a knife. The wounds were fresh, perhaps not even a day old, barely scabbed; and shocked everyone to silence.

"I'll fetch Anders. She does not go to the Guard." Quiet fury in his words, adding silently, (and then I will find the individual who did this, Elka could use the exercise…)

"No Messere, please!" she'd clutched at his sleeve.

-o-o-

Light, blinding after the darkness poured in without warning as the cell door thudded open. Blinking, he glimpsed three of them in the swinging glow of the lantern before the first boot buried itself in his gut. The beating was almost leisurely, sanctioned not sneaked. Hawke put his back to the wall and rolled with what he could, that lasted all of half a minute before a hand yanked the chain at his wrists behind his head and hauled him to his knees. Mailed fists in his belly, a backhand across the face, feeling his lip split and hacking at the trickle of blood down the back of his throat from his nose. When they shoved him to the floor again he barely managed to turn his head, white spots flashing in front of him, a boot pinioned the chain at his wrists trapping his hands, denying him his one defense. He fought to keep his teeth locked on his grunts of pain as the blows moved in a steady pattern across unprotected ribs, groin, spine. Eventually the boot moved to his throat and the fight became one merely to breathe as the blood pounded in his ears, dimly hearing their chuckles of enjoyment. When the pressure finally eased he struggled to suck in rasping lungfuls of air, quickly driven from him as he felt a rib crack under a final shot, the work of that mage- in an earlier life it seemed- undone.

"Sleep well traitor" as the door slammed shut leaving him again in blackness, Hawke spat blood and forced himself to sit up. Tilting his head back against cool stone he willed the pain in his side to ease, and the coloured lights to fade from in front of his face whether his eyes were open or not…

-o-o-

"It's alright, he's a healer; he won't hurt you I swear" although he wasn't sure if even Anders' skills could replace what had been lost like that. He'd watched the wariness barely masking fear in her face change to a fierce determination.

"They don't matter Messere, how they heal. I don't need no points to know that I'm an elf. But without 'em I'll find better work, proper work, I won't be nothing my whole life!" He hadn't known what to say in the face of that courage. But he had decided in that instant that she would get that chance. Kaie had insisted on working immediately, refusing to take 'charity' of any kind for either of them; she'd eventually agreed to take them to retrieve her sister from some hole in Darktown, more because she trusted Elka than any of the humans he suspected. But within a week of her presence in the kitchens Hawke had almost regretted his promise to find her a position in a household with more opportunities for advancement. He'd heard from her once a few years later, she was managing a household for some other noble, perhaps Arinshaw.

-o-o-

Apparently she'd continued to do well. And she'd recognised him through his efforts at hiding that had held for two months under the nose of an enemy who knew him far better.

/This is your reward for doing favours for people; haven't you learnt that yet?/

He wasn't sure how much time passed in the dark, perhaps a day, marked mainly by increasing hunger and thirst. And by the visits; irregular but often enough to make any attempt at sleep shallow and broken. Sometimes just one stopping to add a few more bruises, the three of them came for him twice more; the second time he felt something small and painful pop across the top of his right foot. Sometimes just a pounding on the cell door outside; enough to jerk him into uneasy waiting.

-o-o-

The next time they arrived and prioritised lighting the lantern rows along the walls over kicking the shit out of him Hawke knew who had to be coming. Eyes narrowed against the glare he watched them warily, as new (and not encouraging) details of the cell became clearer. The heavy wooden table to the right of the entrance; other restraints along a side wall; embedded metal rings here and there across the floor. And in the room's centre two solid wooden posts set into the ceiling, perhaps a metre long, wide spaced. Metal rings ran in pairs down their lengths, chain hung looped from one set. And if the dust in some places indicated that the room hadn't seen a lot of recent use the centre shackles, like his, were new. Hawke did his best to ignore the twisting knot of unease in the pit of his stomach. 'What ifs' wouldn't give him any more control over the situation.

"Wake up traitor. You've got a visitor" A heel slammed into his kidneys, his hands momentarily freed as he arched in pain then refastened behind his back. A casual hand in his hair dragged him to the centre of the room, shoved him to his knees as Sebastian Vael entered unhurriedly, a metal mug clasped in one hand. The guards filed out, Hawke couldn't see them through the cell door left half open but he doubted they'd gone far. The prince took a long deliberate drink of the mug's contents before placing the vessel on the table, his eyes never leaving Hawke's. With an effort Hawke resisted licking his lips at the prospect of liquid so close and returned the other man's look as the silence stretched. /Your move prince. I'm not going anywhere./

-o-o-

"Two months. Two months and Maker forgive me, I did not see."

"Well if you're lucky, you might still spot Anders around somewhere. Here's a hint, look for the maid's outfit." The backhanded blow rocked him on his knees, his lip splitting against a ring's edge. /So; you really want to make this harder for yourself?/

"Where is the abomination?" Sebastian's tone was cold enough it should have left frost on the flagstones but it was his eyes that told Hawke there would be no easy way. The earlier hot rage of betrayal now cooled and hardened, into righteousness, a certainty in the truth of his position; and a complete absence of mercy.

Hawke shrugged "No idea." In that moment deeply grateful that it was true. Can't reveal what you don't know.

"What was the mission of the malificarum at the warehouse? You went to quite the effort to rescue one of your accomplices. Did they bring information; news from Anders?" The name spat out, like venom.

"The mage? Actually, he was just a desperate stray; I've a knack for picking them up by chance. Of course you'd know, being one of them."

Sebastian scowled. "How many more malificarum have you slipped in and out of Starkhaven to bring ruin to her as you did to Kirkwall?"

"You mean in my copious free time in between being your blighted Guard Captain" a muscle in the prince's jaw twitched briefly as he swallowed; interesting "and dealing with I don't know how many blood mages, usually fatally? I knew no-one was reading those progress reports."

"How fitting that it should be the defense of one of your spies that brings you finally to justice. He was most…forthcoming."

/Another casualty; probably would have been cleaner if you'd just killed him in that warehouse./

-o-o-

"Templars can't do their jobs properly if you don't give them a mage to torture every so often?"

"Before the Maker there may be some redemption for the truth of the sins he eventually confessed and repented."

"Likely he gave you whatever lie you wanted after whatever you did to him. Since you've got the truth you want to hear, why are we having this conversation?"

"I wished to see if you have even a shred of honour left for the city that once called you its Champion, to ease her fate. Give up the abomination, confess your treasons-"

"Treason? To who, you? Kirkwall isn't part of Starkhaven yet whatever Maker-given right you think you have for your little war of expansion-" another blow cut him short.

"Then all your loyalties are as false as those you swore to Starkhaven, and to me." Ah; it always came back to that. Hawke swallowed blood and spit, the tiny amount of moisture not enough to ease the dryness coating his tongue, suddenly tired of the futility of the discussion.

"I'm not going to help you fight your war, so are you going to finish what you should have at the Gallows that night, or just throw me to the mob?"

A faint smile crossed the prince's face as something dark flickered under the coldness "A quick death to create a martyr? I think not. Only those present know of your discovery and fewer still know where you are. You are mine for as long as I wish it." A few quick strides brought him alongside Hawke, a hand fisting in his hair wrenching his head back to meet Sebastian's eyes. "And eventually, you will give me the mages' plans against Starkhaven, and the location of your precious Anders. And" he hissed "you will give me the truth of the blood magic you have used."

-o-o-

/Wait, what?/ "Magic? Not actually a mage here. Even your templars figured that one out."

"I had long suspected the abomination, yet I let your defense of him, and my own weakness, cloud my judgment. Until that night when the foundation of our civilization was destroyed and I saw too late. How the two of you had conspired in the evil of that ritual, the power you must have called down with the blood of so many souls, including one I loved so well. And even with that knowledge when I saw the danger I…thought it a test of the resolve of my chosen path, sent from the Maker for my earlier failings."

"Thought wh-" The hand left his hair, fingers digging in brutally just beneath his jaw and Hawke's words cut off as Sebastian's mouth crushed against his, bruising, teeth sinking in hard enough to send blood trickling from his split lip when he tried to jerk his head back. When Sebastian pulled away the fingers at his throat hauled him up and sent him stumbling against the table, the mug clattering across the floor. Hawke shook his head as realisation set in. "Seducing you? You think that …everything was about that?"

"I do not, yet, know the depths of your plans, but what better way to begin than by destroying the main point of resistance against your war. Any fortress can fall to treachery from within, Matthias Hale. Still I did not think that even your arrogance would bring you personally to Starkhaven's heart."

Hawke fought back an insane desire to laugh "My arrogance? When you think I started a war to get in your pants?" He failed to hold back a smirk, knowing it would cost him later. "You know prince, if you wanted to join in the fun, all you had to do was ask."

-o-o-

Splinters dug into his chest as he was flung face down, his head slamming into the wood. A hand at his neck held him down and he tensed at the tip of a blade trailing down his spine, a whisper away from drawing blood.

"I hear your words for what they are, put no trust in your lies, let them hold no sway over me." The knife sliced at the waist of his pants, shredding fabric and nicking stinging lines across the skin beneath.

"Liar" Hawke mumbled, fear rippling through the dizziness when he felt the warm heat of Sebastian's erection pressing against him from behind. As he bucked against the hips pinning him against the table's edge; the prince's voice came, roughened with need "But every man falls to sin, and they cannot be confessed that have not been committed."

As the ruined fabric fell free the pressure of a knee at his groin buckled his knees with a moan that slid to a scream as two fingers forced into him dry. Hawke gritted his teeth as they wrenched him open, scissoring inside him sharply, cruelly, their intent pain not preparation. For an instant it lessoned as they withdrew, short lived as Sebastian's cock, wax slicked, thrust into him full length drawing another howl from him. Blood trickled, coated the wax, increasing the friction until every stroke seemed to scour him raw inside.

-o-o-

Desperately he tried to find some footing to gain even a little relief as every movement ground his own genitals against the table's edge, the bruising ache off time to the sharper, deeper pain. Hating the low chuckle that rolled from Sebastian's throat as his efforts forced him to push back against the thrusts "Be careful what you ask for" he growled hoarsely, his rhythm speeding up as his fingers dug bruises across Hawke's hips and ass. Hawke drew on the small pains, sweat stinging his eyes (only sweat, he would give them nothing else), ragged gasps burning in his throat, trying to drag himself even a few steps above the pain thudding like a second heartbeat.

Finally Sebastian's rhythm faltered as he spent himself with a shuddering cry, withdrawing abruptly to push himself away shakily. Hawke sagged against the table, his body feeling disjointed, unstrung, in that moment uncaring of anything, the voice in his head saying to get up, turn around, simply so much noise. The room was silent but for the uneven breathing of its occupants; Sebastian said nothing but after a long moment there a sharp whistle, a summons. The sound of approaching footsteps had Hawke turning instinctively on legs still unsteady, holding to the tenet that whatever happened- and he wouldn't think of that- he'd see it with his head up. Three figures he was fairly sure he'd met several times already in this room approached; expectant leers did nothing to improve the looks of any of them. One of them moved to his left and he jerked as he felt the leather roughly encircle his neck, someone's belt as an instant choke leash. A yank on it had him on his knees again gagging for air as a voice behind him growled "You even think about biting an' I'll wrap this round and twist your sodding cock off".

A second stepped forward, one hand fumbling at his own belt; Hawke remembered without pleasure the heavy studded double ring that linked the remains of the man's first finger to the index on his left hand. Behind him for a moment as that hand grabbed his jaw Hawke glimpsed Sebastian leaning, arms folded, against the doorframe watching the scene, dark enjoyment in his eyes.


A/N: I love being back to writing snarky!Hawke.

Original prompt: Hawke spares Anders, which makes Sebastian PISSED off and he leaves to get his army. But: Sebastian desired Hawke, and is somehow convinced that Hawke used blood magic to do this(Or witch craft.) Hawke is caught and Sebastian is determined to make him/her confess to this... By any means necessary. Think 'Hellfire'.