I own nothing related to Dragon Age or the Characters associated with it. I gain no profit in any way shape or form. This is purely fan-made with the intent to entertain.

Enjoy

..

.

..

"Ah, the lovely Champion from Kirkwall! Please please, do come in." Denarius ushered Hawke in the room. The woman stood, tall and proud. Her hood covered her face, both still damp from the weather. As if on cue, a clap of thunder sounded as she took a step, lightning flashed, lighting up her face. This was a cold woman, Fenris thought as he risked a glance. Before her face turned to him, he ducked his head down once more. Denarius nodded at him to shut the door. He made no expression as he obliged. Staring at the ground, he noticed the water trickled down the woman's cloak, pooling at her boots.

"You could have sent someone to escort me," She nodded to the elf. "Maker's Breath, the trip here should be well worth it."

"Of course! My sincerest apologies, dear, but you had not given me much notice…" Denarius was cheerful though, Fenris could tell. He had sent countless invitations to this woman, whining like a child when he received no reply. "Tevinter is so lucky to have you grace us, mage or no."

"Yes, I had been wondering about that." Her voice was hard, but not spiteful. Her gloved hands pulled back her hood. Her blue eyes caught the light, and Fenris could see her eyes held a much deeper emotion than annoyance or spite. "You insist I come, but you never tell me why. I'm not entirely pleased with the lack of information."

"Right of course of course! Please, come into my study. There is a fire lit and wine poured for your leisure. My boy?"

There was no fire or wine yet. Denarius was ordering him to light and pour and stand still as a statue before their guest entered the study. Swiftly, he took his leave. The stone floor was cold on his bare feet, but the sensation was welcoming. It was nice to be distracted, by anything. He could hear their conversation in the hall, her voice sounding none too pleased. It took only moments to select a wine from the small wine case. There was only one kind. Shimmering glasses sat atop the case in nice, dust free rows. Orana had done well. In a swift movement, he took two glasses and filled them half way. He turned on his heel and set them silently on the small metal table. Replacing the bottle on the wine rack, he was at the fire place in strides. Two quick, heavy strokes of stone upon stone set a spark, and quickly there was a fire blazing. He stood at attention by it, silently taking in the pleasure of the warmth tickling his feet. The room was cast into an orange glow

Perfect, for that moment Denarius walked in with the lady. Her hood was down, but she still donned her cloak. The firelight dances across her face. He could see very clearly she was one who smiled often, yet her attitude did not support that. Perhaps it was due to her harsh journey here. He held out an arm to collect her cloak, but she shook her head.

"Thank you, but I'd rather keep my belongings with me," her eyes stared into his while she spoke. Denarius made a tsk sound and Fenris immediately dropped his eyes. Foolish to look a person in the eye, more so a guest.

"Forgive my little Fenris, it is not often we receive visitors."

"You mean you invited me, multiple times, and did not prepare for my arrival?" Turning her head, she noticed the wine. "Someone apparently was." She nodded at Fenris. He pretended not to notice.

Denarius chuckled and took a seat. Hawke sat likewise, raising an angled eyebrow at the elf.

"Oh don't mind him; he'll stand for as long as I need him too."

"Really? Are all your servants so loyal?"

The laugh that burst from the Magister was mocking. He covered his mouth with a hand, a few outburst escaping. A few moments of silence told the woman had no idea what was so funny.

"My dear, there is so much you do not know. Please, allow my explanation. Fenris is a slave. You may use him and even abuse him as you wish. He and every 'servant' in this city are property. So please, do not feel shy to demand anything you wish. Now, about the subject of your visitation."

Hawke nodded.

"There is something I want to ask of you, Serah Hawke. I am allowed as many apprentices as I so desire, but I only have one. Hadrianna is not…qualified, I'm afraid to say, to surpass me." He took a long sip of the wine. Holding it out, Fenris plucked it and refilled it. "I am working on immortality."

"Really, that's a very vain goal."

"One I will never reach, I know. So, Serah, I'd like to invite you to stay here, and become my heir. I want you not as an apprentice, but as a Magistrate of this city."

Fenris placed the newly filled glass in Denarius's palm. This news was not surprising, nor did it matter. One master, another, it would never matter. A small, bitter part of him was glad he would not belong to Hadrianna. Hawke tilted her head, thinking a moment. Her icy blue eyes seemed to be focused on something far away. Fenris went to take her glass, but noticing she had not touched it, he left it alone.

"Why would I care to become a Magistrate?"

"My entire fortune would become yours."

"Do I seem to need money?" She examined the tips of her gloves. Elven made, with very light lines spread out in some intricate design Fenris did not know. Denarius laughed, as if Hawke were pushing him to the best part.

"You are Champion of Kirkwall, but that is all. Would you not want to expand your reach? You could own this whole city, if you desired. And, forgive me saying so, but you have no one left. Your mother was killed I heard. Your lovely sister was slain as well. What do you have left?"

"So I should become a diplomat to a city filled with slaves and demons? And why do you want me, exactly?"

"That, my dear, will be explained in time. For now, let Fenris show you to your room. I insist he stay the night with you, should you need anything. For now, you will be treated as if you were already a magister." With a nod, he shooed her and Fenris. She stood, frowning slightly, and waited for the elf. Fenris set the bottle back into the rack and stood by the door way. Hawke walked to him, and he began down the hallway. Her boots made wet, squishy sounds. His feet were completely silent. They reached a flight of twisting stairs, and he turned to face her, readying a warning for the steep stone steps.

"What is your name?" Her face was almost a mask. The iris of her eyes dark. It was weird she asked, Denarius had referred to him many times that evening. It was not as if she did not know his name.

"Fenris," He nodded curtly. "The steps are steep here; please guide yourself using the wall." He turned his head and took a few steps. The lack of hers made him pause.

"Mine is Hawke. Why don't you kill him?" Her voice was completely serious. He had to meet her eyes again to know this was no cruel joke.

"A chair does not plot against its owner, a wine does not argue with lips."

"You believe it, don't you?" She took a few careful steps, and he moved as well. They both climbed the stair quietly for a few more moments before she spoke again. "Your markings, they do not look like tattoos."

"They are not," was his curt reply.

As they neared the top of the staircase, he stepped aside. He held out no hand for her, just merely watched her finish the few remaining steps. The squash of her shoes made him groan inwardly. So noisy.

He took her to the room farthest down. A beautifully carved door stood, stained with neat paints and dyes to look much lighter than the room. He placed his palm in the center, pushing it to one side. It swung open without noise. Again he stood aside to allow her first. She did not move.

"Fenris?"

His stony gaze was his answer.

"Can I trust you?"

His lips curled back into a sneer as he bowed to her, his arm swinging toward the open door. "No."

Hawke tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. A small smile graced her lips. The first one he had seen on her, he realized. She walked past him into the room. A velvet rug spread across the floor, gold thread decorating the edges. Two chairs stood in front of another fireplace, a stone table separating them. There were no windows, but tapestries hung from the walls. A porcelain tub was in a corner, tucked behind a screen for privacy. There was a large wardrobe standing next to the bed, also adorned in red and golden fabric. The room was small, but much larger than Gamlen's shack. She looked over her shoulder to see the door had shut. Fenris leaned against it, arms crossed, a scowl across his face.

"Sit if you'd like." She flicked her wrist at the chairs. He obliged, though he did not look grateful for it. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Silence from the elf.

"Oh for the Maker's sake…" Sighing, she shrugged off her cloak. It fell to the floor with a damp thud. Fenris rose to collect it but she waved him off. "Leave it, I will handle my own things." She strode over to the edge of the bed, giving plenty of space between them. Her gloved fingers nimbly unlaced her boots and she tossed them near her cloak. Next she tugged off the gloves. After throwing those, too, she glanced at the elf. He looked horrified.

"What?"

"If you do not dry them, they will collect mold."

"So?"

"You do not have to clean the mold."

She threw her arms in the air. "Take them then! Void take it all!" She let herself fall back, her legs dangling off the bed, arms outstretched. Her hair fell around, a few strands sticking to her face. In all respect, Fenris thought her beautiful. But in the way one would when admiring a horse or piece of art. Her chin was angular as well as her nose, but her eyes were large. Too blue. He gathered her still damp things and spread them out by the fireplace. He lit the fire and crossed his arms, awaiting further command.

"Is there anything else?"

"No," she huffed. "Go if you want to."

"I can not. Denarius assigned me here for the night."

"He was serious?" Another sigh. But he noticed her attitude had changed. Perhaps it was only Denarius she was curt with.

"Yes."

She heard him sit back down. She closed her eyes, listening for any noise in this mansion of slaves. "Why do you listen to him? Why don't you kill him and be free?"

"Do not plant hope," he snarled at her. She could visually see the teeth in that voice. "We are all we will ever be." He said that last bit with so much sadness and loss.

"Where would you go, if you could? And who would you go with?"

"I would not care. And every slave in this mansion. But that itself is foolish to speak."

There was silence for a long time. He looked over and saw her sitting upright, her chin resting in her palms as she stared at him. "Take off your armor." He sighed, knowing this would happen. Denarius thought this was the best part, letting his guests use him for…personal entertainment. He unclasped his breastplate and let it fall to the rug. His black tunic was loose, it was much easier to shrug off. Before he went to his trousers she stopped him. "Wait. Come here, please Fenris." She may as well have not said it, she met him halfway. His silent fury at this humiliation shown in his eyes. But she was looking at his chest and arms. There was no lust in those eyes. She was silent for a long time. Finally, she looked away from him, as if she were ashamed.

"You can put your armor back on, Fenris. I'm sorry I made you do that." She turned her back on him, that's when he noticed the two blades strapped to her back. Wings of death, he thought, watching the light dance off them. Her feet pitter pattered on the carpet, but he turned his watchful gaze away from her. She was going behind the screen. Running water sounded, so he kneeled to replace his tunic and armor. His talon-like fingers worked the leather back into the clasps. Fenris sat back in the armchair, watching the fire. This woman was like one he had never met before. She seemed so full of hate and love and the same time. What could have possibly happened to her, and why would she come here?

Well…to receive answers, he supposed, he'd have to give some.

"I tried to escape once."

The slosh of water answered him. Perhaps she did not care, or perhaps she was listening respectfully. Either, he realized, was fine.

"I actually went to Kirkwall. I had met a dwarf, Anso, and he had arranged for a distraction so I may slip away again. Only…" His gauntlets dug into the chair. "It never came. I killed as many as I could, but the Alienage is a trap. If cornered, it is near impossible to get out of. I thought Anso would have come through, that had been foolish. He must have taken off with my coin." A long sigh escaped his lips.

"Would you run again, if you could?" the smell of soap filled the air. It wasn't flowery, it was simply clean.

"If I could, perhaps. But that is a foolish idea. Denarius will hunt me no matter where I go."

More water sloshed. Hawke leaned back into the bubbles. He expected no sympathy, but her silence was almost deafening. Then the sound of it draining seemed too loud. He glanced to see her armor draped over the screen, her silhouette showed she took slow, careful steps. For what reason he did not know.

"Denarius is a worm of a man, but he was right. I do have no one. Carver and Bethany, my siblings, were killed. My mother was murdered by a blood mage." She spat that out as if it were poisoned. He nodded in understanding. "But my friends, after the war," she laughed. "If it can be called a war. We split up. I have one friend here in this city I'd like to find, but aside from him… I am alone here, in a city I have no knowledge of, that treats humans and elves as they would a table." Her voice rose to a bitter tone, but she caught herself.

He rose his eyebrows at her, though she could not see. "Then why are you here?"

A dagger flew. If he had thought himself in danger, he would have moved. Instead, it embedded itself in the stone wall. A tapestry of a man and child hung on that wall. The dagger was lodged in the man's throat, shaking slightly from the force that had thrown it. Fenris turned his head at the woman, she frowned at him. For a moment, she stood with all the pride and honor of a Fog Warrior, and Fenris had to lower his eyes in shame. A long felt cloth was wrapped around her body, her black hair wet. She looked as she had when he had first seen her, blue eyes piercing into him as if she could see his every sin. Staring now at his hands, he heard her drying and clothing herself. Normally he was to assist with these things, but he was not about to volunteer.

"Have you heard stories of me?"

He scoffed. "Slaves are never told stories."

"They say I killed my family. They say I allowed my brother to be killed by an Oger, allowed my mother to be murdered, and drove the sword through my sister. They say I am heartless." She spoke so matter-of-factly, as if she were simply talking of what she had done the day before. "What do you think? Do I seem capable of that?"

"It is not my place to answer such a question."

"You do though. When I came into this…home, your eyes told my exactly what you thought of me." She sat in the chair across from him, looking at her blade in the wall. "I must look like a monster. A cruel killing monster." No sadness was found in her voice, but Fenris could not meet her face. He was a slave, he could not agree with such things. "But if you would like to know what happened, what truly happened, please ask no one but me."

"Why would you not tell Denarius these things?"

"That flamboyant man? I do not trust him. I feel comfortable talking to you though. Not because you are a slave, but because you are honest. I can see it in your face. I'd like to share stories sometime, but I understand. If you wished to tell me, you would. I hope one day you do." A sigh escaped her lips. "I do not care what this city thinks of me. But I do not want you to look at me as if I were a monster."

Fenris said nothing.

..

.

Wanted to try something different. Lemme know your thoughts! I love comments, even more so when you tell me good/bad things about the story line!

Please enjoy my work!