Summary:

Tevinter was renowned for its depravity - his master even more so. Slipping into a half-existence felt easier than fighting the inevitable. Nothing remained but blind obedience - until the appearance of the unfettered aberration. Nothing moved him, until now. Nothing stirred him, until now. Yes, Tevinter was depraved, but so was he if he allowed himself this one obsession.

(AU) - F!Hawke/Fenris

A/N: Rated M for mature content, violence, and language.

Disclaimer: Bioware owns all - just writing for fun.

Unfettered Aberration

Prologue

Was it possible for someone who discarded all layers of emotion to feel pity?

The question pricked his mind like an annoying splinter, penetrating uncomfortably into the all too comfortable haze of his consciousness. He resented the intrusion. Over the years, he settled into a comfortable state of emptiness, finding it easier to distance himself from everything than allowing emotions to influence his actions. If an order was given, he followed it blindly and efficiently. His master valued him for that.

But now, watching the shackled figure being led into the center of the arena, he was almost tempted to frown. His thoughts stirred from their deep slumber, worming like snakes to struggle against their bindings. If he wasn't so occupied with pushing them back, he would have wondered how he even remembered the term "pity" in the first place.

Next to him – above him – his master chuckled. Aside from the knowledge that he would be severely punished for looking his master in the eye without permission, seeing the Magister's face twisted into a picture of cruelty and sadistic pleasure was not necessary for the Wolf to know that the man was enjoying the sight before him.

Next to and around the Viewing Box lined with rows of mages of high stature, similar expressions of amusement reached his ears. Before his dull, green, eyes, the prisoner, dressed in mismatched and rusted pieces of silver armor covered in blood and grime, stumbled after a man pulling on his short leash. Long, black, hair hung in a tangled mass around his shoulders; his gate was clumsy, probably due to weakness from starvation or abuse. Nothing unusual. Slaves and prisoners were treated like animals in Tevinter; this creature obviously experienced that fact first hand.

Eventually, the pair reached the center of the oval-shaped stadium. As they stopped, the man holding the chain turned around and kicked the slave in the side, sending him staggering and toppling to the ground. Again, the Magisters shared a collective sound of merriment. The rustle of shifting silks signaled that another mage had arrived to take the final, unoccupied, seat in the Viewing Box. As the man relaxed and placed his staff at his side, the Wolf heard him turn to direct a question to the one above him.

"What have they brought this time, Danarius?"

"That thing looks like it can barely stand, let alone put up a fight," one of the men complained irritably.

"Another filthy slave, no doubt?" another Magister suggested in a bored tone.

"Not this time, Lovian," Danarius said. A pause. "You'll see."

"This better be worth my time," another one said, his voice breathless. A pair of his own slaves fanned him to provide some relief from the blistering heat of the sun. "I was invited to a viewing of Rominus's new invention, but I declined because you said this was an event worth attending instead."

"Rominus?" his master scoffed. "The only useful invention he's come up with is the collar he uses to keep his bitch of a wife from leaving him." The Magisters laughed in response. All the while, the Wolf's gaze did not waver. He watched as the slave pushed himself off the ground to stand, swaying, on his feet. Despite the size of the arena and the amount of people present, the voices used to whisper theories about the creature's identity were quiet and subdued. Nobody wanted to induce the annoyance of the nobles present at the event. Nothing would stop a Magister from burning an offending commoner alive, or turning a free man into a slave with a flick of his wrist. Despite that, there was still a hum in the air. There was only one prisoner, after all - an unusual element. Typically, ten or fifteen slaves were brought out onto the field at a time.

Such events were often the only ways for the common people of Tevinter to see the power of their Magisters with their own eyes. The mages often showed off their power by summoning demons to fight slaves in this arena, or to sacrifice them. The trials instilled the fear and blind loyalty that the people showed for their leaders. Crossing them meant that they would share a similar fate. Yet, despite the symbolism of such events, more and more Magisters grew bored with them, as they did with most things that required little effort. It seemed that even inhumanity has a limit to its appeal.

When it was time, a single gesture from the head Magister sent the crowd into an obedient silence. Everyone turned to face the center of the field.

The Arena Master stepped out from the same gate that the slave and his retainer emerged from earlier. He was dressed in armor of the highest quality, although his girth strained the ties and bindings of the shining metal. Waving his hands in the air, he brought a cone-shaped device to his mouth that would amplify his voice to reach the Viewing Box.

"Esteemed Lords!" he shouted. "Today, your humble servants bring a special treat to entertain you!" His gestures were theatrical and exaggerated. If the Wolf's prior experience of viewing such "entertainments" in the arena were any indication, the events that followed the Arena Master's announcement would be another bloodletting or a public humiliation. Disinterested, he cast his eyes downward, slowly allowing his mind to slip into its customary numbness. However, the announcer pulled his attention quickly back to the field with his next words.

"Today, we have brought you a legend! A Grey Warden of Ferelden!"

Around him, the Magisters stirred, some voicing their disbelief while others expressed excitement and delight. The crowd hummed again in surprise.

"Yes! A Grey Warden, captured alive on the coast near Kirkwall!"

For the second time that day, the Wolf's eyes focused in on the prisoner. He took note of his slouched back and slightly bent knees, suddenly realizing that his clumsiness wasn't clumsiness at all. Instead, he stood rigidly in a deceptive battle stance. The armor he wore – a mockery composed pieces of broken garbage – should have weighed him down, but he bore the burden easily. If the opportunity for escape appeared, he would not hesitate to take it. By lulling his captors into a false sense of security, he was free to look for openings in their defenses.

A clever deception, the Wolf thought to himself, but a useless one. Even if he tried to escape, the mages would tear him apart with their magic, assuming that his captors failed to do so with their blades. Such an end was inevitable. Hoping for any other conclusion was foolish and futile. Soon, he would learn the ways of this world, assuming he made it out alive.

"Danarius," one of the Magisters murmured. "You've outdone yourself this time."

"It pleases me that you approve, Keran. I hope that declining Rominus's viewing no longer burdens you."

"Not at all," the mage replied. Having been in service to Danarius for years now, the Wolf easily understood his master's clever ploy. The Magister named Rominus was one of his biggest rivals for a promotion in the Order. By distracting the others with this rare show, he easily pulled their attention away from his competitor. The elf could only imagine how many strings he'd had to pull, and how many palms he'd greased to make this possible. A Grey Warden, after all, could not have come cheaply, especially if the rumors about the raging Blight in Ferelden held any truth to them. He had to wonder though, how a Grey Warden – a warrior of legend – could have allowed himself to be captured this way. He also had to wonder how none of his allies had come for him yet. The Grey Wardens were a closely-knit order, bound by honor and loyalty. Surely, there were others looking for this man.

"How did you come by it?" someone asked.

"A long story, really," Danarius replied. "In truth, I had no trouble breaking it – more proof that the Tevinter Order stands above even the most renowned of 'heroes'." He drew out the last word, coating it with poisonous disgust. The Wolf knew what his master was really saying. When he mentioned the "Tevinter Order", he actually referred to himself. The hidden meaning did not go unnoticed. The other Magisters fell silent, obviously impressed.

"It would be a shame for it to die so easily, when so much could be learned from it by further study," one of the mages lamented.

"I've already purchased it. If it survives the showing today, I will be sure to share my findings with all of you." The Wolf could almost visualize his master's self-satisfied smile. "After all, I could never deny my closest colleagues such a pleasure." The others chuckled and settled back into their chairs to watch the progression of the show.

"We have another surprise today, Esteemed Lords!" the announcer continued. He motioned to the prisoner's keeper to stay as he moved towards the exit. When he was safely behind the heavily barred gate, he nodded for the retainer to follow. As soon as the man let go of the leash, the Warden attacked. His movements blurred together into a vicious assault as he grabbed the long chain attached to his collar, jumped behind the man, and wrapped the cold metal around his neck. The larger man struggled, but his resistance was pointless. Although he toppled backwards to squash the smaller man beneath his back, the Warden's grip did not loosen. Instead, the warrior wrapped his legs around him in a deadlock and pulled on the chain. His victim's neck snapped sideways. Slowly, he pushed the dead body aside and got to his feet again, looking around until his eyes settled on the Viewing Box.

The Arena Master seemed to recover from his surprise, shouting an order for a second gate to be opened. As soon as the heavy metal ground to a stop, dark shapes poured forth. They were warriors dressed in heavy armor. Their screams resembled loud shrieks of various octaves, unpleasant enough that he saw some people in the crowd rush to cover their ears. Their faces were misshapen, their eyes a dull grey and their mouths shaped into fanged grins. Bloody veins bulged from the skin around their necks and limbs; slime and gore covered them from head to toe.

"Are those…"

"Darkspawn," Danarius finished for his fellow mage. "Indeed. Now we will watch it fight and see if the Grey Wardens live up to their reputations." The Wolf watched silently as at least twenty of the filthy monsters rushed the Warden in the center, spewing black bile and slime into the sand as their ran. With surprising restraint, the prisoner straightened his back and prepared for the attack. In seconds, he was overwhelmed, lost beneath a pile of writhing bodies. The Wolf looked on, expressionless. Again, he was proved correct. Inevitability was a force that nothing in this world could defeat.

"Look!" one of the men behind him hissed. As though the command was issued to him personally, he turned back to look at the arena.

A beat.

Then an explosion.

Darkspawn were sent flying backwards, clearing a brief opening around the warrior. He now held two longswords lifted threateningly before him. Standing in the center of the black hurricane that was the mass of monsters around him, he looked as calm and deadly as a viper ready to strike. Of course, the tainted beasts were undaunted by his resistance, mindless as they were. As soon as they regained their feet, they charged at him again. This time, he parried their blows, weaving in and out between them with blinding speed as he used every opportunity he could to land critical blows to their exposed backs. He might as well have been as intangible as smoke, the way he moved. The battle did not last more than a few minutes before bodies littered the golden sand, the sun accenting the hue of their blood-covered, gored, flesh. With a quick jerk, the Warden placed a foot on the last carcass beneath him and pulled his blades from its stomach.

Shocked into an unusual silence, the Magisters and the crowd below went utterly still. Nobody knew what to say, for what the warrior accomplished was unheard of. That he survived the trial was unprecedented. Suddenly, Danarius stood from his chair, raising his arms into the air in a gesture of approval. The Wolf saw the Arena Master nod. With a groan, the gate before him slid upwards to allow several guards to pass through. They moved towards the Warden with obvious fear. As soon as they were close enough, he attacked. He brought down four of them before he stopped in mid-swing.

Lightning arched around him, forcing him to drop his swords and scream in agony. Without thinking of the consequences, the Wolf looked up to see his master holding his hand before him, his eyes glinting with blood-lust. After a few moments, he released his hold, allowing the warrior to crumple to the ground, his armor hissing with smoke as it fell away from his surprisingly small frame. The guards rushed towards him, now confident that he could not fight back. For the third time that day, the Wolf felt surprise stiffening his body. He watched in near disbelief as the Warden grabbed a sword from the ground and blocked the swing of the guard's spear, pushing him back with unnatural strength. More guards ran out from behind the gate. The Arena Master shouted curses. Three more bodies dropped dead to the ground before Danarius sent another spell flying at his victim.

He managed to somehow hold on to his weapon this time, although his scream was filled with obvious pain. The lightning caught him off guard, and his assailant took advantage to slash right through the front of his remaining, flimsy armor. With a ferocity that would resound in the Wolf's memory for many days to come, the Warden roared a denial. The spell flickered and he used the reprieve to lunge forward and barrel through the last two guards who still stood. They fell – one losing his head while the other lost two of his limbs. Danarius's expression did not change. Instead, he lifted his staff and pointed it at the Warden, casting a spell that the Wolf recognized immediately.

Spirit Cage.

With another tortured shout, the Warden released his hold on the sword and arched back, his spine forced to bend from the pure agony that he must have felt. After what seemed like an eternity, Danarius released him. The dirt-covered clothing that the warrior wore beneath his armor was mostly burned away, leaving a sight that stunned everyone in the audience.

The sun shone down on pale, white skin. The bright, golden rays illuminated an upturned face with delicate features that could not have belonged to any man. Even the tatters of the linen could not hide the small, fragile form that was only supported by Danarius's spell. The shirt mostly fell away to reveal the softness of breasts moving up and down with labored breathing.

The Wolf reeled with sudden realization as he saw the figure in a completely different light.

A prisoner.

A Grey Warden.

A fierce warrior with an indomitable will.

But, above all, a human woman.

To be continued...