Thank you so much for all the great feedback you've given me! I'm not as sure about this chapter as the first one, but the idea was stuck in my head so I went with it. This would have been uploaded yesterday, if not for the uploading problems the site was having. As ever, feedback and constructive criticism is welcome. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to Bioware.


The following weeks were trying, to say the least. Hawke had some experience with long sea voyages, but her trip from Gwaren to Kirkwall had been...civil, in a way. They'd been provided with decent food, twice a day, enough for everyone to have at least a few bites. Privacy had been lacking, obviously, but short of the few men who seemed intent on making life uncomfortable until Hawke and Aveline had had 'words' with them, everyone had minded their own business as much as possible in those cramped quarters. People did get sea-sick, but they were allowed up on deck to try and keep the hold as sanitary as possible.

This was worse. Far worse. People died; from injury, from illness, or even in fights. Often the bodies were left for a day or two before being removed. If you were ill, you simply had to try and restrict the contents of your stomach to a corner and hope people didn't comment on the acrid smell. Their food consisted of the scraps from the crew's meals, thrown through the grid that allowed sunlight into the hold when the sailors deigned to bring parts of their meal from the table. The scraps were fought for; it very quickly became apparent that the mentality of the slaves was to lookout for themselves only. The few times the slaves were actually fed en masse, the food was old and stale; they rarely had meat, what fruit they were given was overripe or starting to spoil.

The first day, Hawke and Fenris had remained in place, not yet feeling the bite of hunger. The mother with the young child had cast a torn glance between her child and the food falling through the ceiling. Her hesitation cost them a meal. The following day, when their breakfasts in their mansions had long since become just a memory, Hawke and Fenris weighed into the brawl over the fractured loaves of bread poked idly between the bars of their cage. When the crowd had abated and they'd reclaimed their position against the mast, fistfuls of bread in hand, they'd seen the mother hugging her daughter, trying to shush the child's quiet, hungered keening. Hawke had started to reach out, willing to go hungry for another day, but Fenris beat her to it. He'd stood, taken the few steps towards the pair, and knelt, hesitantly holding out his ragged half loaf. Hawke knew he was capable of being gentle, though he rarely showed it, but even she was surprised at his small, almost fond smile when the little girl eagerly took the food from his hands, showing none of her mother's fear of the strange elf's markings. The child looked at the food in her hands as if it were all the gold in the world, then promptly threw her arms around Fenris' startled neck. Hawke had to suppress a laugh as he toppled from his crouch, sitting down with a thump and a bewildered look for help in her direction. She just waved at him, leaving him to uncertainly pat the child's coppery hair and mutter an awkward 'you're welcome' as her mother gently prised her away, her smile wiping away her concern as they both thanked the lanky elf as he regained his feet, looking supremely awkward and almost as if he wished he'd stayed where he was. He'd hurried back to Hawke's side to see her amused grin and accept the proffered bread she'd snatched.

"Next time, I'll let you be mobbed by the miniature Aveline over there," He grumbled, rubbing his neck and feigning disgruntlement. Hawke just laughed, shook her head and let him pretend his stoic reputation was still intact. The only resemblance between the slight elvhen child and the Captain of the Guard was their bright hair. Still, a wordless agreement formed between the two of them – when food appeared, Fenris and Hawke would see how much they could scrounge, and distributed their rations between the four of them. The young mother –Atisha – tried to refuse the food since she had no way to repay them, but the third time that happened and she failed to scavenge food on her own, being too soft to make any headway in the brawl over the meagre scraps, Fenris simply bypassed her and handed the bruised apple to Sulahn, her daughter. Realising that these two unusual fighters were not about to stand by and watch her small family starve, Atisha gave in with good grace and what seemed like endless thanks.

Years of fighting in the darkened streets of Kirkwall had given Hawke and Fenris a good grasp of simple street fighting. The fights in the hold were a level below that in skill, and almost all of their fellow captives were weaker than they. The gap in skill and strength level practically guaranteed that after each donation of table scraps, the two walked away with enough food for their small party. After the first few weeks, the other prisoners had noticed and, finally, taken action.

It happened during their second real feeding – baskets of food tossed into the hold, of varying quality. None were the best, but even the crushed slop from the bottom of the baskets was growled over. When the slavers saw fit to feed them properly, there was usually enough for the desperate prisoners to grab some, give it to a partner, then delve back in for seconds. Not many utilised this tactic, but Atisha and Sulahn would wait with the first lot of food until their providers returned and they could split the meal evenly. However, when the Hawke glanced through the squabbling crowd on the sixteenth day, she saw one of the few humans who looked close to healthy gleefully tugging the food out of Sulahn's slim hands; Atisha's already tucked under his arm. A rapidly reddening mark marred the woman's cheek; it was obvious that the man had hit her. Hawke prodded Fenris and nodded in the direction of the confrontation as the two fighters drew closer, the human's words carried to them in the slowly growing quiet.

"Why should you get two pet mabari to hunt your food for you? Why should you have an easy ride while the rest of us have to fight for our food?" Hawke glanced towards Fenris, but the elf had already left her side, stepping silently around, skirting through the crowd to circle behind the cocky human. Taking this as her cue, Hawke stepped forward, ignoring the sudden hush of the expectant crowd. A shadow passed overhead; some of the guards were watching, mistrustful of the abrupt silence of their slaves. Wordlessly, Hawke knelt next to Atisha and gently examined the blooming bruise on her cheek. Despite the woman's quiet demeanour, there was a stubborn pride in the lift of her chin as she levelly stared at her tormentor. Sulahn was crying quietly, hugging her mother. The oaf standing over them was struck silent for a moment, gaping at the distinctive armour Hawke was clad in. As a Kirkwaller, he recognised it. Whispers were already circulating as people took their first good look at her.

"The Champion of Kirkwall," Hawke looked up at the scorning laugh the man gave. "Well, she can't be much of a Champion if she's stuck here with the rest of us low lives!" He shouted, throwing his spoils to an accomplice behind him. The smaller man was already looking as though he regretted his part in this folly. "Especially since she seems so eager for her new life. We're all slaves here, but this one is already the slave of a slave! How can she-" His voice cut off abruptly, the corded, lyrium scarred arm wrapped around his neck choking his words.

"Just think; if you'd kept your vile mouth shut, human, you might have survived this journey," Fenris snarled, the veins of lyrium in his arms burning blue. Realising what was about to happen, Hawke dove for Sulahn and ensured her face was well and truly hidden against her mother's shoulder as, with a familiar, sickening crunch, Fenris' other hand protruded through the man's chest, the frantically beating heart pulsing between his fingers, fractured ribs punching through his skin. Accompanied by the sound of screaming bystanders, grinding bone and the suction of clinging organs, Fenris snapped his arm out of the body, tearing the fluttering muscle free of its bloody tethers. The body dropped, the heart following as Fenris discarded it. The crowd had backed as far away from him as possible, leaving the three elves, sole human and single corpse in an empty circle. Hawke could hear the guards shouting, but it would take time for them to pull the grate aside and climb down into the hold to restore order. In the time left, Fenris stooped to tear a rag from the dead man's shirt and wiped his arm clean before turning to his wide-eyed, cowering audience.

"These two elves are under our protection." He told them, his low voice ringing out to reach every ear. With a whisper to the little girl to keep her eyes closed, Hawke left her in the arms of her shaking mother and went to stand by his side, taking her turn to address the terrified slaves before them.

"Yes, we give Atisha and Sulahn half of our food, and when there is enough as there is today, we give them a full share. But they have never received more than what those of you who could fight for food did; if anything they ate less. We provide for them because otherwise they would have starved because they could not compete with those of you who brawl, even kill over scraps like starving dogs," She looked around the gathering and saw some ashamed faces. Deaths had already occurred in the hold, more than one down to fights over food, and people knew it. She felt Fenris' green gaze on her, and met it squarely.

"We may all be destined for the slave market when we dock in Minrathous, but that does not mean we are willing to fall into that role. Helping another person who cannot help themselves is not the mark of a slave; it is a sign of compassion – something that is apparently sorely lacking on this ship," Hawke continued, her voice raised to the audience but her eyes still holding Fenris'. She saw surprise dance there, before it merged into respect and flowed into a challenging grin. Following on the tail of her speech, he too turned to the slaves, singling out the man that held their food.

"Share that out with those that have none. We have what we need." As the man hurried to obey, Fenris raised his head to the others, speaking to them all. Despite the open fear that had bled from their eyes, they now watched him closely, with stirrings of what could have been respect and – maybe – hope.

"If you want to survive this voyage, the only way is to cooperate, not turn on each other. I won't lie; a slave's life is rarely easy. Many of you will find that companionship gives the magisters something to hold over you; and you would be right. But it also means you have someone to defend you, and someone to defend. I have been a slave before," This announcement caused some stunned whispers, wide-eyed surprise. No doubt these people couldn't imagine such a terrifying warrior being bound by anyone. Fenris gave a grim smile. Poor, ignorant fools. They'd learn. "I had no one like that; I felt that having no ties to anyone would only spare me additional pain. I never realised until I was free that having someone I trust implicitly at my back would be a comfort, no matter the consequences," He'd turned to look at her as his voice softened, holding her in place with that steady, proud stare of his, the vestiges of a smile lingering around his mouth. Hawke couldn't help but smile back, her heart ready to swell out of her chest as she subtly linked her fingers with his. He held onto them with surprising strength, and she realised just how difficult this was for him. He was advocating something he'd believed foolish for so many years, to so many people. It would be good advice for some; bad for others, and he was excruciatingly aware of the consequences of both. In the hopeful quiet that followed, Hawke realised she couldn't hear the guards anymore; and cautiously glanced skywards. Shadows hovered over the grid, one silhouette standing out from the rest. It didn't share their armour, instead it wore robes. Hawke couldn't make out any facial features, but the light that touched the edges of the man's head showed his hair to be grey, and outlined his beard.

Lowering her eyes, she caught Fenris in the same action. He nodded in grim affirmation. Danarius was watching them.

She gave his gauntleted fingers a reassuring squeeze with her own before he took a daring breath and addressed the slaves directly once more. What he said made Hawke gawp in disbelief.

"We are bound for the Tevinter Imperium – Minrathous in particular. This is the nation that Shartan and other slaves helped overturn; the city where Andraste, an escaped slave, was burned. Do you think any of that could have happened if people were fighting each other? If you want to reclaim your freedom, you have to band together to fight for it – not isolate yourselves and suffer your fate in silence," The tense, singing moment of shock broke as the guards above them started shouting and tackling the grid in earnest. Above the sound, Hawke heard the magister's voice clearly, calling Fenris. Both of their heads snapped up to look at him. He was shouting in Tevinter, so Hawke looked quickly to Fenris for clarification. He looked drawn; his jaw tight, but gave an ironic snort before translating for her.

"He is demanding I stop inciting rebellion amongst his cargo," He explained, though she could see the wariness behind the amused facade in his eyes.

"The second Shartan," Hawke quipped as they grabbed Atisha and Sulahn and dragged them clear of the entrance to the hold before the guards dropped down. The two elves blended rapidly with the panicked crowd as Fenris and Hawke whirled back on the guards, not giving the slavers time to use the whips they were removing from their belts. Fenris phased straight through the first two, leaving the mangled bodies to drop as he spun in the tight space to face the next wave. These were more cautious than the last, keeping their eyes on the marked elf. He just smirked and raised his eyebrows to a place just behind them. They hadn't even finished turning when the Champion leapt into a spinning kick, the pointed sabaton protecting her foot impacting the first slaver's temple. He dropped as though suspended by strings that had suddenly been cut, leaving Hawke free to snatch up his blades and spin to parry the first blow of his fellow guard. Fenris looted one of the first men's blades – why he had drawn a whip when he carried a great sword on his back, the elf did not know – and dove into the fray.

It was almost simple, after that. The pair had fought numerous slavers on the sands of the Wounded Coast and the caves that lined it; in the tunnels beneath Dark Town. They knew how the slavers fought, and how each other fought. They were veterans in this bloody dance, equal partners that knew when to press a lead and when to bow away. The sound of sundered flesh and dying screams and their own drumming hearts were the instruments, the harmony and symphony that they responded to. She dropped to one knee to take out a hamstring as his blade whistled over her head to remove that of the man trying to stab her from behind. She twisted under his outstretched arm to bury a dagger deep in a slaver's gut before he could cleave Fenris in two.

Dimly, they became aware of some of the other slaves grappling with the guards, some with smuggled weapons, most with their bare hands. Danarius was still above them, shouting. He didn't want them killed. The normal slaves he didn't care about, but Fenris and Hawke...he wanted them alive. In the chaos, Hawke caught her lover's eye. They exchanged a meaningful look; a whole conversation in just a momentary glance.

They were going to fight until the last guard was dead, or force the magister's hand. He would rather they die than his life be threatened, after all.

Something shot past Hawke's eyes, tearing a hole in her hair. The crossbow bolt slammed into the floor. The archers had arrived.

A quick glance between shoving her blades backwards into a slaver's stomach and slashing one across an exposed throat told her that the other slaves had been subdued; either killed, beaten or unconscious. Though it had cost lives, Hawke couldn't help but feel some small satisfaction that Danarius' investment was being eroded.

Suddenly, something akin to a small boulder slammed into her stomach, knocking her onto her back and stealing the breath from her. She heard Fenris curse, and managed to look through bleary eyes at the mages beside the archers, all now aiming at the two slaves that refused to be beaten.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed past the numbness in her lungs and stood, ignoring her body's panicked screaming that she wasn't breathing even though she knew she was. Her breath returned to her as she swung at the unprotected back of a slaver trying to hem Fenris into a corner. Another arrow thudded, dangerously close to her heel. The next one went through her arm as she plunged the daggers into one of the remaining slavers. The injured arm released its blade as she gave a sharp shout of agony, something the slavers interpreted as a weakness. One of them grabbed her from behind, attempting to subdue her. She introduced her remaining blade to his innards and he dropped her, his intestines spilling out and tangling around her feet.

She landed in a crouch she had to leap from as the body fell towards her, but his organs twisted around her ankles and brought her back to the floor of the hold, the corpse lying heavily across her. She heard the reflexive tensing and releasing of a bowstring, and then an arrow pounded through her shoulder and into the floor, pinning her on her stomach as she screamed.

The last slaver in the hold crumpled and the marked elf started towards her, concern and anger warring in his eyes, but Fenris was drawn to a halt by a warning arrow landing in front of him. His name drew his eyes to his old master and a snarl from his lips.

Danarius gestured at the taut bowstrings and wary mages beside him. All were directed at Hawke's back.

"I'm loathe to lose such a valuable slave, but if you do not cooperate, Fenris, I will order for her to be put down," Hawke growled at the implications behind his words.

"I'm no animal to be slaughtered, you bastard," She spat, as she gave a wrench that pulled the arrow up out of the floor, splinters scattering as the backward facing tines of the arrow head tore the wounded floor up further. Hawke knew she wouldn't be able to pull it out of her shoulder backwards without removing a large chunk of flesh with it.

"No," Danarius mused, flat grey eyes watching her with interest as she twisted beneath the corpse and glared up at him, pain baring more of her teeth than she would have in simple revulsion. "You are a slave. You have more worth to me alive than dead, but you have no more value than any other live animal,"

She heard an answering snarl from her right.

"Shut your mouth, Danarius!" Fenris shouted, the familiar blue glow lighting his veins as he struggled to hold back his fury.

From the assembled slavers and mages, even the prisoners huddled in the back of the hold; there was a collective gasp of shock. No doubt these people had never heard a slave issue an order to a magister, or even heard someone of supposed lower status raise their voice to the mages perceived to be their betters.

'Get used to it,' Hawke thought grimly, as the uproar began. Despite his lackeys shouting angrily into the hold at the daring elf, Danarius was quiet, his eyes calculating. Once again they came to rest on Hawke. She braced herself as she saw his gloating lips move in a quiet order to the bowman beside him, throwing herself to the side to reduce the injury from another pierced shoulder to a shallow gash in her arm.

This time Fenris ignored the arrows clattering around him, closing the distance between them in three quick strides and dropping to kneel in front of her, shoving the dead slaver off her with ease. He sent a quick assessing glance to the newest future scar on her arm before turning his attention to the arrow in her shoulder, ignoring demands for him to move from the guards. The two were just outside the square of sunlight; they weren't surrounded. The archers would have great difficulty reaching her around Fenris.

That didn't mean she liked him acting as an elvhen shield.

"Fenris, don't," She whispered, her good hand gripping his arm. He spared her eyes an impatient glance before uttering an advanced apology snapping the arrow close to her skin, waiting until she'd hissed and cursed and attempted to relax the muscle around the wound before responding, partly to distract her from him reaching around her to grip what was left of the arrow, ready to pull it out.

"Though he's gravely mistaken, Danarius values me far more than you. I doubt he'd want his investment shot full of holes just to make a point," He murmured to her, keeping his voice too low for his master to hear. There was a note of his old sarcasm in his words, though Hawke sensed it was more in an attempt to reassure her than from genuine amusement at their situation.

"And I don't want to risk him changing his mind. I-" Their hushed argument was cut short by Fenris abruptly tugging the bolt out of her shoulder. He just smirked past the guilty writhing in his gut as she swore creatively at him, knowing she only meant a bit of it. She fell quiet only at Danarius' impatient sigh and the reflexive tensing of Fenris' muscles at the sound of his master's voice.

"I'll only warn you this once, my rebellious pet. Move, Fenris," The magister ordered. For a single moment, Hawke thought Fenris was going to obey as he hesitated, indecision warring in his face. Then he turned without giving the archers a clear shot at his Champion and met the flat eyes of his old master. The phrase he delivered was in Arcanum – the language of the Tevinter Imperium – so Hawke understood none of it. It was difficult to misunderstand its meaning, however, since the guards started shouting in outrage at Fenris again, and this time a flash of anger animated Danarius' face before he wrestled it under control.

"I had hoped you wouldn't be this difficult, Fenris, though I anticipated some problems with the woman who duelled the Arishok to the death," He shook his head and waved a dismissive hand. "Send them to sleep. Only sleep," He spoke to a point a few feet behind them. Fenris whirled, whilst Hawke tried to twist enough to see behind her without sending a lance of pain through her upper body. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw the demon coalesce, rising from the ground. She recognised a sloth demon from her venture into the Fade after the dreamer boy, Feynriel. She reached for a dagger with her good hand and Fenris rose, no doubt to rush the demon. He barely straightened his knees before staggering back to them, the sword dropping from his suddenly clumsy hands. Hawke fared no better, her vision dancing as she felt an enforced sleep rushing up on her. She only realised she'd collapsed when a spike of pain shot through her shoulder as the still painful area smacked into the hard floor, forcing her onto her side in an uncoordinated attempt to avoid the pain. Almost numb, she was aware of a weight falling across her legs and saw a glint of white hair as Fenris slumped next to her, his green eyes already fogging over but his arms still trying to push himself up to defend them both.

They lost consciousness before Danarius could give the order for the two to be brought up out of the hold.