Rated M for gore, violence, and mentions of sexual assault.
This fic is AU in only one way: Orsino is stopped by Hawke before turning into Harvester. It will be several chapters, some of which are already written. I hope you like it. :)
The air was thick and warm, the humidity high as they trekked through the brush, shielded from the sun by trees. They were taking a little-known path to the next city, and "little-known" usually just meant unused. Fenris's feet were taking a beating, while Merrill's pale skin was reddening fast. No one was happy, but no one wanted to say anything, not when Hawke's face had been stuck in such a grimace for so long.
"We need to rest," said Fenris finally, the exhaustion making it come out like a growl.
Hawke didn't argue, just sat down, her frown softening a tiny bit. Merrill let out a soft pained noise as she sat, while Fenris folded his legs under him. It felt strange, with only the three of them. He wondered vaguely, before he caught himself, where the abomination was.
They hadn't been sitting for more than five minutes before they began to hear the sound of marching. Fenris bolted up, Hawke at his side. Merrill stayed on the ground, hand on her staff.
They were standing on the ledge overhanging a large clearing, and together he and Hawke peered over it to see a large group of Tal-Vashoth marching through the forest. Fenris relaxed slightly. While they didn't look friendly, as long as they stayed out of their way they should be fine.
Fenris glanced over at Hawke, ready to say this. He was surprised to find her staring at them intently, brow furrowed.
"What's wrong?" he said quietly.
"Watch," she said.
He turned his attention back to the Tal-Vashoth, who were headed, now that he looked closely, for a path with a huge boulder blocking it right in the middle there was no way around. The Tal-Vashoth had to see that.
As they crouched in the bushes (Merrill had joined them by now, dying of curiosity), the Tal-Vashoth party stopped. One person was shoved forward by the others, but he wasn't Qunari. It was hard to see from their distance, but the person was probably a human. Too tall to be an elf.
They raised their hands in front of them, as though they were trying to do a stance they couldn't quite complete. Fenris wasn't sure, but he thought their hands might have been chained together. A second later, a burst of blue magic shot from their outstretched palms and into the boulder, shattering it.
"That's a mage," said Hawke, fingers flexing for the huge staff on her back. "And what's more, that was a force spell. Kirkwall magic."
Fenris sighed. He could see where this was going. "It's unfortunate that one of the mages got caught," he said testily. "But we did what we could."
"No," she said. "That's not just any mage. That was a huge spell. Not just anyone could do it."
"Do you...know them?" Fenris knew it wouldn't matter of she did.
Hawke grasped the staff behind her and pulled it out. Fenris moved to the side to avoid it and growled slightly.
"We're going down there, aren't we?" said Merrill. "I didn't know you liked Orsino that much."
They turned to stare at her.
"What?"
"You can't tell?" chirped Merrill. "How many mages have we known who're that powerful without a staff?"
"They're too tall," said Fenris.
Merrill giggled. "He was the tallest elf in Kirkwall."
Fenris and Hawke squinted down at the figure, who was being shuffled back into the group. In the right light, it looked like it could be him...Fenris glanced at Hawke's staff, the black three-headed dragon she'd stolen off Orsino's unconscious body. She'd claimed it was only fair for him attempting to do blood magic and making her knock him out, but even Fenris had wondered at leaving him there with no staff and no idea what the future held.
"Do you really want to save him?" asked Fenris, but it was too late, Hawke had jumped down into the clearing.
He sighed and unsheathed his sword.
When the attack came, Orsino wasn't thinking. He fell into that, the mindlessness, because it was easy. It was easy not to think and not to feel, to do as he was told. If he thought too much then he would remember what he'd lost and how he'd failed, and that hurt.
When the first blast of magic hit he was thrown to the ground. He covered his head with his hands, staying in place and wondering whether he wanted to die or not.
A rough hand was pulling at him and he let it. The Tal-Vashoth treasured him as a slave, he knew, and wouldn't let him be blown apart.
"First Enchanter."
No one called him that anymore.
"Come on," hissed a voice next to his ear. "Run."
He hadn't heard that voice in months. He'd thought he never would again. It kick-started his mind, a flood of memories hitting him all at once. Hawke.
He ran with her.