For several long minutes, Seren stared through the cell door and into the hallway the elf had disappeared down. She wasn't sad to see him go, but she was troubled. Her hand, wrist, back and knees still throbbed from his manhandling in the bath chamber, and the whips marks burned fiercely. But that pain was endurable, and wasn't the cause of her current consternation.

The elf was strange, perhaps the oddest elf she'd ever encountered. It had nothing to do with the greatsword strapped to his back—the armed elves she'd known had always favored lighter weapons or bows. But, unusual as that was, it wasn't what made her hesitate.

To begin with, there was his appearance. The shock of white hair was starling in and of itself. Such an odd color, and unnatural given how the coal black brows framed his expressionless green eyes. Once she got past his face, his markings immediately grabbed her attention. It was impossible to ignore them. They were so striking, so vivid, there was no way not to notice them.

At first, she'd thought them some form of strange tattoos. They were aesthetically pleasing, curling and winding across his hands, arms, neck, face and feet. She suspected that they also extended across his torso and down his legs, though there was no way to be sure. But there was something off about the marking—for one, the color. She'd never seen white tattoos before, and while she conceded it probably wasn't impossible for them to exist, something didn't sit quite right. Black or dark brown and blue inks were far more common, easier to obtain, and would stand out almost as well against his skin.

But in the baths, she'd been able to get a closer look. The markings weren't just white. They were bordered by a darker color outlining them, darkening to almost black where the lines were the thickest. And something just looked…wrong about them. There was an odd flatness to them, as if something had been done to the skin itself. It reminded her almost of a burn or brand, but his flesh didn't look damaged. Just…altered.

Seren shook her head to clear it and gather her thoughts. As strange and curious as the elf's physical appearance was, that wasn't what truly concerned her.

The baths. She shuddered slightly. As injured, tired and weak as she was, it was no surprise that he'd been able to subdue her. What was surprising, even shocking, was how easily he did it. He'd been fast, unnaturally so, and he was far stronger than his frame suggested, even if he was bigger and more heavily muscled than most elves.

She kept going over the memory of how he avoided her blow, how quickly he'd grabbed her and dropped her to the floor. She'd been able to follow his movements, but just barely. She certainly wasn't quick enough to actually do something about it, and if she wanted to escape, that was going to be a problem.

With her free hand, Seren pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes and sighed. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to relax. There was no time to indulge in a little personal misery over her recent treatment. First things first, she needed to go over everything that she knew, and only then could she begin to plan a way to escape.

Looking around the tiny cell, she frowned, and then set the half loaf of bread on the pallet with a shrug. There was no telling what might be infesting the thin blankets, but the bread was wrapped, which would keep it clean enough. And besides, she'd likely be sleeping on the pallet, so it seemed rather silly to worry about a stray bug crawling over her food.

With that done, the cell was her next area of focus. It was tiny, probably no more than six feet by six feet, smaller even than the pantry had been in their house in Lothering. Seren was glad she wasn't very much taller, or she wouldn't even be able to stretch out completely when she laid down. The walls and floors were made of the ubiquitous tan sandstone blocks she'd seen throughout her time in Minrathous. They were fitted together with either a layer of mortar too thin to be seen, or with none at all, which meant she wouldn't be able to pry one out in an attempt to tunnel or hide anything she might find useful.

The door to the cell was really a standard cell door, if a bit smaller. Pitted iron bars and a large lock. She crouched down, and felt the front of the lock with her fingers. If only she had her lock picking tools…. Well, it was a plan that could be worked out later. The lock didn't seem especially complicated, and if she could manage to find some thin lengths of wire, she might be able to pick it.

The last thing of interest in the cell was the narrow window set in the outside wall, barred with the same bars the door was made of. There was a narrow ledge just high enough that she could see out without having to stand on her tiptoes. The window looked out into the back of the estate, and if she moved all the way over to one side, she could just see the yard where she'd been tested, if that was the word for it. Otherwise, she had a relatively clear view of the goings on and some of the walls. Seren gave a few pulls on the bars. They were stuck fast, no give at all. Again, there didn't appear to be any mortar securing them, and she wondered if the metal had been set into the stone with magic. Whatever the reason, there would be no way to pry them out. No, it looked like her best bet was going to be either picking the lock or making a break for it when she was let out of her cell.

Sighing again, Seren folded her arms on the narrow window ledge and rested her head on them. Allowing her eyes to unfocus as she looked out, she went over what she knew.

Her new owner was named Danarius, and he seemed even fonder of the whip than her previous master. Quicker to use it, too. And as bad as the pain was, that wasn't what worried her. There was something about him, that even in the short time she'd been exposed to him, made her skin crawl. It might have been his voice, the undercurrent of amusement that colored his words when he spoke.

And what she'd overheard, both from today and when she was first brought to his mansion, told her that Danarius had plans for her. Well, might have plans if she proved herself. What those plans might be, she was unsure. It at least involved training her with weapons, so at the moment she was content to let events take their course. Any strength and skill she could build would only help her escape and stay free. And that brought her right back to her original problem.

The elf.

It seemed like Danarius had turned over responsibility of her to the elf, so she was going to have to concentrate on him for now. She already knew he was a dangerous opponent without weapons, and if he was always armed and armored, she was going to have to avoid engaging him. Seren wondered if he would be susceptible to seduction. He was attractive, and it would undoubtedly be a far more pleasant way to lull him into a false sense of security than any other she could think of. But given his demeanor thus far that seemed unlikely.

All right. So far she's established herself as a fairly disobedient slave, even if she wasn't really strong enough to back that up with outright defiance. A sudden change to complicit behavior would only make him suspicious, and an outright defiant one wouldn't benefit her at all. For now, she'd have to watch and wait for an opportunity. Then, once she was free, she could worry about finding her family and getting out of Tevinter.


The next three days passed slowly for Seren, but it was a marked improvement from the previous week and a half. Each morning, there was a bowl of porridge waiting for her, and lunch and supper of slightly heartier stews, each accompanied by a rough chunk of bread to use instead of a spoon. Not particularly flavorful, but it was edible and filling, and far better than anything she'd gotten in months. Seren was not ashamed to lick the bowls clean. Water—clean, clear water—was also provided with meals and at random intervals during the day by a bored looking guard.

And if she wasn't let out of her cell, well, a slave came by every day—accompanied by guards, of course—to take the bucket she relieved herself in and replace it with a clean one. And at least in this cell she had sunlight and fresh air. It was dry, relatively clean, and the pallet—surprisingly vermin free—had been a welcome break from sleeping on stone floors. No one came to her or spoke to her, so she filled her empty hours by stretching sore muscles so she would remain limber, practicing the meditation exercises her father had taught them all long ago, and watching life in the estate through her tiny window.

The daily training by the guards was by far the most interesting thing available to watch, so Seren spent many hours watching and learning. Not so much specific techniques, but more how each guard fought. There was a good chance she might have to fight at least some of these men and women during an escape attempt, so anything she could pick up now would be useful.

It was relatively easy to tell which if the guards were the most skilled. It was also easy to tell what they were like. There were certain ones who most of the guards avoided, who the others were careful to watch themselves around. Seren marked them carefully. These would be the guards she should definitely try to avoid.

As she watched, a curious thing caught her attention. She'd seen the elf sparring each day, but only with the most skilled of the guards, and those he seemed to have no trouble holding his own against. A fighter herself, she had to admire the fluid grace with which he moved, the economy of his movements that never left him off balance, over-reached or exhausted. The same speed and strength he'd shown against her was evident here, even as he swung a sword almost as tall as him as easily as she swung her daggers.

And though there was no outright hostility while he and the guards trained, he clearly wasn't part of the guard. Soldiers the world over tended to act like a pack of mabari. There were those who would lead and those who would follow, but they all stuck together, members of a large extended family. They might have their own internal power struggles and squabbles, but they always presented a united front.

The elf was not part of that group. It was evident in the cool interactions with the guards he sparred with, and the outright fear of the others. If he wasn't a guard, then what was he? From what she had seen—and granted, she hadn't been able to see all that much—the guards were the only non-slaves Danarius employed. Was he a slave then? But why would a slave be given such weapons? And why, Maker above, if he was a slave, did Danarius still draw breath? She couldn't see any slave with his abilities being allowed to live as he did. It made no sense. If it were her, she'd gut the magister and be out the gates before anyone could stop her.

Seren worried her lip for several moments, and then dismissed the questions with a slight shake of her head. She would have time to find out more.


On the fourth morning, perhaps an hour after she'd eaten her breakfast and finished her stretching, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallways. Seren turned from the window and stepped over the pallet and settled her feet on stone floor. If something were to happen, she wouldn't risk being unbalanced or tripped up by the blankets.

A guard stepped in front of her door, and a pace behind him was the elf, who stood, waiting silently, as the guard unlocked the door and walked back down the hallway. Seren's brow furrowed as she looked at the elf suspiciously. Silence surrounded them, but he neither moved nor said anything. Finally, Seren stepped carefully out of the cell, well aware that he watched her every move. When she was clear of the door, he shut it quietly, and then gesturing for her to proceed down the hallway, fell into step beside her.

Their first stop was the baths, and Seren saw that a bucket of water, soap, rags and a change of clothes had already been set aside. The thought that baths might actually be a regular occurrence now had her shedding her dirty clothes as she walked over to the bathing supplies, too delighted by the prospect to even be slightly embarrassed.

She washed quickly, aware that her ablutions were probably supposed to be quick and efficient, and she had no desire to see if testing that meant she would lose the privilege. In the back of her mind, she wondered if it was something to help keep her complacent. If so, these Tevinters had a lot to learn about Seren Hawke.

This time the pile of clothes held a pair of loose linen smallclothes. Seren slipped them on, drawing the laces so that the garment was snug. The shirt and pants were also of the same material, but while the shirt fit correctly, the pants did not. They hung low on her hips, and she laughed softly as she pulled the drawstring. To think, she had once worried about her waist and hips. A little starvation took the weight right off! She'd probably be the envy of all the girls in Lothering if she were back there now.

And if everyone wasn't most likely dead.

Her laughter trailed into a resigned sigh. She caught the slightly raised eyebrow from her elven watcher, and shook her head. From his perspective, her actions were probably a bit odd. "It's nothing," she said quietly. "Just…thinking."

He didn't bother to reply, just nodded his head at her clothes on the floor. Seren hastily scooped them up and dropped them onto the wet pile of rags. Dusting her hands off, she looked back at him and asked brightly, "So, where to now?"

Again, he didn't bother to reply, simply stepped back into the hallway and waited for her to join him before again coming to walk at her side.

Smart, she thought as they headed up the stairs and back into the training yards she'd left several days earlier. He always keeps me in front of him or to the side, never behind him where I could attack.

Today, they didn't stop at the training yard, instead skirting it to head to a small building nearby. The elf held the door as she entered—a precaution to prevent her from slamming it into him, no doubt—and Seren found herself in a well kept armory. The sight of all those weapons and all that armor, even locked away as they were, had her practically salivating.

"Do not even think it." The elf's quiet words behind her startled her slightly and she spun back to face him.

"A little late for not thinking about it," Seren shot back, and was gratified to see his lips thin slightly.

"Then do not act upon whatever foolish thoughts you may have had. Here," he gestured, "put these on."

Seren's eyes followed the line of his arm to see a set of worn and battered leather armor laid out on a bench. She fingered the armor and looked back at the elf, raising one brow. "You're giving me armor?"

"You're going to train. Some protection is required to prevent further damage. Now dress."

Biting back the instinctual retort that he couldn't order her around—because of course he could—Seren snatched up the armor angrily and pulled it on. She wondered momentarily if she should ask for something to bind her breasts with, but the buckles and straps on the armor allowed her to pull it tight enough that it shouldn't be a problem. Never very chesty to begin with, she was even smaller now. Something she wouldn't be the envy of back home.

That task done, the elf led her back outside and to the training grounds where a handful of guards waited. He gestured to one, a smaller man who bore twin practice daggers. "For now, you will train with Marcus. His style is similar to your own and will suffice until I think you have enough strength and skill to proceed further." The guard, unlike the one she had been tested against, simply looked her over and nodded, no trace of cruelty on his features.

The elf took another pair of practice daggers from one of the guards, handed them to her, and then stepped back. The other guards followed suit, and Seren realized they were there to make sure she didn't attempt an escape. A small grin tugged up one corner of her mouth as she tested the weight of the daggers and settled into a stance. Let them be vigilant now. In time, someone would make a mistake and she would be there to take advantage of it.


Throughout the day, the guards traded off, so that she was always watched by at least three or four of them. Some stood quietly, while others called out insults and crude comments. As if "whore" was suddenly a new and inventive insult. Did they truly think speculating on the farm animals her mother had taken to bed would get a rise out of her?

The comments about her abilities cut a little deeper. She knew she wasn't this bad and this clumsy, that with time she could best any of them. But each slip, each missed thrust and parry made her cheeks flush with more than just the heat of the day. She burned with the desire to challenge them and teach them a lesson, and knew even as she thought it that it would end in disaster.

Patience, Seri, her father's old advice cautioned with her. Your time will come. Watch and wait. When they make a mistake, you'll be there to take advantage.

So she didn't respond, focusing on Marcus or the training dummies when he took breaks, but it was somehow comforting and reassuring to be surrounded by soldiers. It was something familiar, something normal that she could cling to. She ate when they did, though by herself, and got water breaks when they did.

The elf, too, came and went throughout the day, saying nothing, just watching with an unreadable expression. It was he who finally called a halt at the end of the day, taking her weapons, dismissing the guards and leading her back inside.

Seren was exhausted. She realized wryly that the gates could be flung open, every guard incapacitated, and she might not even have the energy to get herself across the threshold. The elf did not lead her back to the armory, but instead took her back inside much as he did the first day. Going down the stairs, she stumbled, and it was only his hand grabbing the neck of her armor that kept her from tumbling down the stone steps.

Choking slightly at the pressure from her armor, she flung a hand out to grab at the gritty wall. The elf held her until she steadied herself and then released her just as abruptly as he'd grabbed her. "Thank you," she muttered, and got a small, non-committal sound in response.

As with the first day, he took her to the baths, and she sank down gratefully onto one of the benches. After taking a few moments to rest, she began fumbling with the buckles of the armor, her fingers slow and clumsy. The elf watched silently as she finally managed them all and began dragging the pieces off. Seren was surprised when he was suddenly next to her—and how did he manage to move that silently, anyway?—and took the armor from her, laying it carefully on another bench.

She washed slowly, too damned tired to care if it inconvenienced him. But still he said nothing, waiting with apparent patience while she pulled on a clean set of clothes. When they got back to her cell, a larger bowl of stew and hunk of bread was waiting for her, and the sight was so welcome that she couldn't even be bothered to care that she was being locked in again.

By the time she was done, she barely had enough energy to set to bowl by the door and collapse on the pallet. Sleep took her almost as soon as she set her head down.


That pattern continued for the next several days. Seren could feel her body beginning to adjust to the training, the aches and weariness slowly growing less debilitating. But she was still exhausted every night. It made it hard to think, hard to plan, and the idea of escape right now was laughable. That was almost certainly the point, and she tired to repress the surge of anger it caused. She would have her opportunity. She just needed to be patient.

One evening, after her bath, she reached for her clothes only to find they weren't in their customary spot. She looked up to ask the elf, but he was already walking toward her to stand in front of her. Her brow furrowed in confusion as he dropped to one knee before her, and then grasped her right ankle with a gauntleted hand, and pulled her leg out.

A hot flush rose in her cheeks as she was suddenly aware of how very naked she was and how close he was. She'd considered a seduction yes, but it had to be a seduction. If he could just take what he wanted from her, it would leave her with no leverage.

She considered trying to kick him with her left leg, but then his other hand closed around her calf and he twisted the limb gently, examining it. She paused, waiting to see what he would do. Very deliberately, he pressed down on one of the bruises on her shin with his thumb.

The sharp cry of pain burst out before she could stop it, and she tried to jerk her leg out of his hold. He merely tightened his hand, using that unusual strength of his, the sharp tips of his gauntlet digging into her flesh.

"That hurt?" he asked.

"Yes, of course that hurt, you ass!" she hissed. "What did you think that would feel like? Rainbows and sunshine? Why did you do that?" she asked angrily, still trying to pull her leg free. "You don't see me poking at your injuries, do you?"

The elf ignored her tirade, and reached up to press against a bruise that still shadowed the left side of her ribs. This time she was prepared for it, so she only sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. "What is wrong with you?" she cried.

He offered no response, merely rising to his feet in one smooth motion and taking her clothes off another bench to hand to her. She jerked them on, anger and wounded pride making her motions harsh and violent. All the way back to her cell, she shot murderous looks at him, her anger only increasing when he seemed utterly unperturbed by it.

Seren ate her meal quickly, and then flung the empty bowl at the bars. She should sleep, she knew that, but she sat on her pallet fuming instead. What was wrong with him?

When he reappeared in front of her cell a while later, she glared silently at him. He held something out. "Here."

Rising cautiously to her feet, she stepped closer to the door to see what it was. He wouldn't put his own arm through the bars—too much danger if she decided to try and slam him face first into the bars—so she had to reach out to take it from him.

As soon as she drew it back into the brighter light of her cell, she knew what the small vial of red liquid was. A health potion. She looked up, stunned, her mouth falling open in surprise.

"Drink it," he said quietly.

Pride be damned. Tearing the wax seal off, she ripped the cork out and drank the entire vial's contents in three large swallows. She swayed slightly, grabbing at the bars as the warmth flooded through her, concentrating on the places she was still injured. It wasn't until it was all gone that she realized just how pain she had been in.

The lack of the sound of breaking glass made her realize that the elf had caught the vial when she dropped it, before it could smash on the stone floors. She opened her eyes to look into the elf's solemn green ones, less then a foot in front of her. He was close, too close. She could reach through and pull him into the bars if she wasn't so disoriented from the healing. Unless he knew that and that's why he risked being so close.

"What's your name?" she asked abruptly.

His eyes widened slightly, as if in surprise, the first actual emotion she had seen on his face, and for a long minute he didn't answer.

"Fenris," he finally answered, slowly.

Seren nodded. "Thank you, Fenris."

"You are…welcome," he replied quietly, a great deal of hesitation in his voice, and Seren was suddenly too tired from the sudden rush of healing to wonder why basic, normal interaction seemed so foreign to him.

She stumbled back to her pallet and lay back, stretching out blissfully and pillowing her head on her arm, aware that Fenris still stood at the door to her cell, head tilted slightly as he looked at her curiously. The sound of the elf walking back down the hallway pulled her awake long enough to be truly thankful for the unexpected mercy, and wondered if maybe there was hope to be found in these walls.