A/N: This chapter contains explicit material probably best suited only for adults.
TRIGGER WARNING: As with the last chapter, this one also deals with a lot of RAPE/NON-CON themes. Recommended for mature readers only.
Dawn was, perhaps, two or three hours away; the worst darkness of night had abated and now the skies that stretched above the Tevinter Imperium faded from blackness to a dull gray. As she took slow and deliberate strides around her room, Hawke glanced out the window and watched as the stars seemed to sputter out in the lightening sky. Her hand was extended to her side and, as she circled the room's perimeter, tenuous strands of faintly glowing magic poured from her fingertips. Varric watched silently, his arms folded over his chest and his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Suddenly, she came to a halt and turned to him with a smile. "Varric," she said, "would you be a dear and go see if my earrings are out on the balcony? I might have left them there this afternoon."
"Sure thing, Hawke." He walked out to the balcony, leaving the door open behind him, and turned to look at her.
"Now that I think of it," she called after him, "I must have left them in my satchel."
Varric reentered the room and gave her a reassuring nod. "Couldn't hear a word, Hawke. We're secure."
It was welcome news that the sound barrier was fully functioning; now she could feel free to express herself. Of course, Hawke had never been very good at articulating her feelings and so she took another approach: she screamed. She felt the sound tear from her throat as her vocal chords rattled together violently, but it wasn't satisfying. No amount of screaming or crying could begin to express the rage and frustration that she felt; the memory of standing impotently in a room full of Magisters, with no other choice but to watch, was too fresh in her mind. Erratically, she flew about the room, hurling her clothes to floor, viciously kicking the bedframe, and clawing at the walls. It wasn't the least bit cathartic to take her anger out on inanimate objects. Worse yet, she couldn't even break anything lest Danarius find out that she had wantonly destroyed his possessions. But she wanted to. She wanted to shatter everything in that room. She wanted to utterly and irrevocably destroy it and then go further. She wanted to burn the whole of the building to the ground. She wanted to burn the whole of Tevinter to the ground.
She did not calm herself quickly. It was only once she had punched, kicked, or otherwise battered every object in the room that she finally fell to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest and crying with dry, wracking sobs which were not accompanied by tears. The deep, shuddering breaths she took shook her entire body as she grappled unsuccessfully with the lump that had somehow lodged itself in her throat and was choking her. Though she was painfully aware of the melodrama and childishness of having such an outburst while there was work to be done, she was nonetheless unable to govern herself. "I'm going to kill him, Varric. I'm going to rip his skin off with my teeth and drink his blood. I'm going to make him wish he were never born." She pulled her knees tighter to her body, bowing her head.
"Maker's breath, Hawke," Varric said, eyes slightly widened with surprise. "What happened in there?"
"You know what happened," she spat bitterly. "They tortured him. It just kept going. Just this never-ending parade of people who were willing to do awful things to him. All of them. Every last one of those people is a monster." Another dry sob shook her body. "And I'm worse than all of them because I made it happen. He doesn't deserve this."
Varric was silent, staring at her as she huddled on the floor as if she wanted to collapse in on herself. "Hawke," he said as gently as he could, "you didn't know what would happen."
"Yes, I did!" she shouted, her voice breaking with a hysterical burst of laughter. "I knew! I knew exactly what I was condemning him to and I did it anyway. I didn't care."
He sighed. "Well, I hope you don't think that weeping uncontrollably is a viable plan to get him out of here."
She inhaled deeply and turned to look at him. "You're right," she said, her voice shaking only a little. "Now isn't the time for having a self-indulgent breakdown. But I do have a plan. And I'm sorry for the angst, Varric; I know how you hate that."
He shrugged. "It's alright, Hawke. I'll leave your meltdown out of the final edit."
"Thanks ever so." Pulling herself to her feet, she continued, "Alright, by the end of the day tomorrow, we will either have Fenris out of this damned city or we'll all have been horribly slaughtered."
"Well, let's hope that it's a good plan then."
"It's not very good at all, actually," she said flatly. "Its success is entirely dependent on my ability to manipulate men with my sexuality."
Varric let out a short laugh. "You've had worse plans and somehow we've always managed to pull through. What did you have in mind?"
"Danarius and I have arranged to share Fenris," she explained. "Tomorrow night. Frankly, I think that he would have gladly done it tonight, but Fenris was… he was injured." She wiped her face with her hand, veiling her eyes for a moment before continuing. "Now, the arrangement is going to be a bit tricky. For one thing, I'm not entirely sure where on this estate the whole business is going to be carried out. For another thing, I didn't want to make Danarius suspicious by suggesting that you and Sebastian be allowed to join us. It was easy enough, however, to suggest that Merrill join in and of course that despicable bastard didn't have any trouble with that. On top of which, I'm relatively certain that, even in an intimate setting, Danarius will have bodyguards with him." She took a steadying breath before continuing. "And then there's Fenris…." She trailed off, turning her eyes towards the floor. "He's not himself anymore, Varric. I don't know how he'll react to me trying to take him away from here. The only shred of hope that I have is that there's still something in him that wants freedom. If I can't get him to come willingly, then I suppose I'll have to have Merrill put him to sleep until we get out of the city. With any luck, it's easier to escape Tevinter than it is to invade it."
Varric furrowed his brow, clearly in thought. "Just you and Daisy against a Magister, his guards, and possibly Fenris?"
"Well, it could also be me, Merrill, and Fenris against a Magister and his guards," Hawke countered optimistically.
"Either way, it's hardly a fair fight. And besides, Hawke, you're crazier than I thought if you think that the Chantry Boy and I are just going to let you two have all the fun. What do you say we meet you there? Tail you to the final location, give you a little time to settle in, and then we can introduce the Magister to Bianca."
"Can you guarantee that you won't be seen? I don't want Danarius to sense anything odd."
Varric smiled crookedly. "I think you'll find that he and I can be pretty stealthy when the occasion calls for it."
She nodded. "Well, that's as good a plan as I think we're going to come up with," she sighed. "Give me some time, though. I'm going to need a chance to make Fenris trust me. I haven't a single bloody idea as to how I'm going to accomplish that miracle, but I have to try. But, if after thirty minutes or so I haven't made my move, then I'm probably either dead or having sex with Danarius. Either way, it would be wonderful for you to pop in and kill him."
"Sure thing, Hawke. We're not going to let you and Merrill fall on the sword."
Hawke wrinkled her nose. "I could have done without the double entendre, Varric."
He grinned. "Completely accidental, I assure you. Anything else we need to hammer out before we all play hero?"
"Don't we usually just charge in, flags waving, and hope for the best?" she said with a shrug.
"That's usually about the size of it," he laughed.
She crossed the room and took a seat on the edge of the bed. Though she wasn't looking at him, he saw something in Hawke's eyes. The resolve that had entered them as she had been focused on planning seemed to wane and was replaced by a startling softness. "Varric," she said quietly, "if something happens to me… just keep trying, okay? I know that you pretend not to care, but I know you do. Whenever you can—if it's tomorrow or ten years from now—just make sure that you get him out of here." Her eyes flicked upwards, fixing on him. "Promise me, Varric."
He looked at her, almost smiling. "I promise, Hawke."
There was no more to say; nothing more that they could do at that moment. He left her then and she let down the barrier she'd put in place, knowing full well that, once the sun rose, the slaves would be coming to attend to her. Before crawling into bed, Hawke went around the room putting everything back in order that had fallen into disarray during her outburst; she couldn't have the slaves suspect just how affected she had been by the night's entertainment. Once she had put herself to bed, however, the sleep she found was the fragile, shallow sort that kept shattering and giving way to consciousness. Hawke was grateful when daybreak came and she could put an end to the ghastly enterprise of trying to find rest.
Though the sun had risen, she knew that it was unlikely that her attendants would arrive for several hours. Slaves woke with the sun but mages were not expected to do the same. There was no need to wait for them, however, in order to take a warm bath and ready herself for the day. The water from the night before was still in the brass tub and what sort of mage was incapable of heating up a little water on her own?
When she was clean—or when she had bathed, rather—Hawke sat on the delicate stool before the vanity table and began to diligently comb the knots from her hair. Blankly, she stared at herself in the mirror that hung before her; she stared at the purpled circles beneath hollow, dead eyes and thought of nothing. She did not dare to allow her mind to wander to anything of substance. There was not a thought in the world then that could do anything except for hurt her. Today was not the day to dwell on her fears, her guilt, or her sorrow.
Eventually, when the elves did come to attend to her, they told her sweetly that they had been hearing murmurings all through the palace that she had dazzled everyone the night before and that it was widely hoped that she would agree to stay in Tevinter as Danarius' apprentice. They were more loquacious that morning than they had been the previous night, which could perhaps be attributed to the fact that she had not been unkind to them. As they fluttered about, arranging things and combing her already glossy hair, Hawke spoke to them, wheedling them for more information about all the wonderful things people had said about her. It seemed like the thing to do given the circumstances and she could think of nothing else to say that would seem suitably light. As they went on, answering all her inquiries, she stared at their reflections in the mirror as they moved about behind her. She wondered what their lives would have been like under other circumstances. Would they have been happier in an alienage somewhere? Would they have liked to live in the forests and mountainsides with the Dalish rather than wandering the artificial jungles created to suit Danarius' whims? They were kind to her, she knew, partly because they knew of no other way to be. She wondered if any of them would ever have the chance to be cruel or angry or selfish. Probably not. It felt wrong to leave them here. It felt wrong that anyone should be left here. Still, she knew that she couldn't take it upon herself to liberate all the slaves in the Imperium. She was not Andraste and this was not her holy war. All she could do was focus on the task at hand.
The red-headed elf—Leysa was her name—disappeared from the room for a moment and then returned, proudly bearing a parcel that had been tied with a black, satin ribbon. Feigning eagerness, Hawke unwrapped the gift Danarius had sent to her. When she first lay eyes on the box's contents, she thought that it was Fenris' armour—the armour that he had worn in Kirkwall. She soon saw, however, that it was a modified version that had been tailored for a female's body. She wondered impassively if Danarius thought she was some sort of doll with which he could play dress-up. Perhaps he was right; there was no way that she could do anything but wear the attire that he kept sending her way. What a waste it had been to pack any clothes at all.
Hawke ran her hands over the armour, studying it. It had clearly been designed for appearances rather than practicality. The breastplate, rather than offering any sort of protection from being skewered, seemed designed solely to expose as much of her chest as possible. Furthermore, it looked as if it was going to end just above the bottom of her ribcage, which meant that her midriff would be entirely exposed. The jutting pauldrons, however, were much as she remembered them. It was a shame that Danarius had not also sent along some fashionable-yet-pointy gauntlets to wear; it might have been nice to have a weapon at her fingertips. In addition to the absence of gauntlets, there also appeared to be a definite lack of leg-coverings. Instead, it seemed as if she was going to have to wear a pair of rather skimpy smalls and a skirt that was so short it might have almost been called a belt. From what she could tell, given its fabric and design, the skirt was meant to be reminiscent of the tunic that Fenris had customarily worn with his armour. Hawke ran the cloth between her thumb and forefinger. It was indeed the same fabric; she remembered how he had felt beneath her hands.
Hawke laughed, looking up at the slaves. "Do you know what this is?" she asked merrily, as though it had amused her greatly.
"I believe you're supposed to wear it when you go to meet Master," Leysa told her.
"Yes, I know. I meant, do you know whose armour this is supposed to look like?"
The girls nodded hesitantly. "It's like Fenris'. Like the armour he wore before he defied Master."
Hawke nodded, still smiling. "It's what he wore when I knew him," she said simply, still feeling the cloth of the skirt gently with her fingertips. "Your master is indeed generous. Fenris was a fool to run from him."
The enthusiasm with which they nodded sent a sickening thrill through Hawke's stomach. "But Master restored him. He's better now. You don't need to worry that he'll hurt you." Hawke looked sideways at the girls. She wondered if they believed all the glowing things that they said about their master. It was impossible not to wonder just how complete their subservience was. But this was not the time to test them or to challenge them. Maybe someday, with an army…. Maybe then.
As the day wore on, she found herself eager and ready to fight. She felt the old heat returning to her blood as she waited, going about a day's worth of mundane, unremarkable activities. The waiting invigorated her, filling her with the energy which a near-sleepless night had stripped her. She wondered if Danarius was filled with the same impatience. She hoped he was. She hoped that his desire for her and for Fenris made him reckless. She hoped that his desperate yearning would be met with only the cruel disappointment of his long, drawn-out death.
During the afternoon, she had gone to Merrill's room for a supposedly casual visit. Though her intention was to ensure that Merrill felt comfortable with the plan, it seemed that Varric had already informed Merrill of what lay ahead of them. Even if she had been unaware, then she would have already found out that morning when Danarius sent over some clothing for her to wear during their recreational activities. Hawke scoffed. "Does he have an entire staff of seamstresses on call just to craft provocative outfits?"
Merrill brushed her hair behind one of her pointed ears. "It would seem that way, wouldn't it? I tried it on when the others left me alone for a moment. It was rather a shock when I caught sight of myself in the mirror." She blushed at the memory.
Hawke grinned broadly. "Well, at least I won't be the only one all tarted up. That's some small comfort." She cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably before adding, "But you don't have to Merrill. If you don't want to come, I'll make some excuse about how you're not feeling well or about how you only want to be touched by me. You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."
"Well, I—if it's alright—I'd rather you were the only one to touch me. I don't want to cause any trouble for you, but if there's a way, then I'd rather not be touched by that horrid man."
Hawke nodded decisively, smiling in a manner that she hoped was reassuring. "You've got it. I'm a terribly possessive lover and if he touches my sweet Merrill then I'll be extremely cross."
"Good," sighed Merrill, allowing a hint of a relieved smile to cross her lips. "I'm glad I can be of some help then. Is there anything I can do? I feel odd just… waiting."
"As do we all. But there's nothing else we can do. It's not as if we can pack up our bags and get ready for a trip without making anyone suspicious. I suppose that, if I could ask anything of you, it would be to make sure you're mentally prepared for tonight. We have to be flawless."
"I'll try my very best."
"Good. Thank you, Merrill. You've been amazing."
After she was assured that Merrill would be in the right mindset for that night's activities, Hawke quickly convened with Varric and Sebastian under the veil of a barrier in order to ensure that they too were ready for what was to come. She reminded them that it would be necessary to flee the estate as quickly as possible when their affair was through and that, since she and Merrill would not be able to do so, Varric and Sebastian ought to both pack small satchels filled with the basic implements needed for travel. The meeting could not last long given that any more long, secret conferences might awaken the suspicions of someone within the palace. They couldn't risk that anyone would voice concerns to Danarius about their trustworthiness.
So, when nightfall drew near, Hawke was alone in her bedchamber. She had tried, without success, to get some sleep. It didn't surprise her when she failed. When the elven slaves came to her just after sunset, she was sitting fully awake on the foot of her bed and staring at one of the many works of fiction that she had come across in her room.
Her attendants had come specifically for the purpose of making her ready for Danarius. Hawke couldn't help but to wonder whose job it was in the household to orchestrate such events. Surely it was not simply Danarius who sent out groups of slaves to ready his guests for each and every social function. But then, perhaps he did not do so for all his guests. Perhaps he was keeping a special eye on her and her companions. The thought made her uneasy.
The mission of the slaves seemed to be to make her look as little like herself as possible. They scrubbed her skin violently with a soft-bristled brush as if they were trying to scrape off every trace of her skin; they made sure that her skin was free of hair. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she found that she was a smooth and hairless as a child. Or, she supposed, an elf. Elves, she knew, did not grow hair in the same places as humans or dwarves. It should not surprise her, therefore, that Danarius would prefer her this way. The elves covered her smoothed skin with the same fragrant oils that they had used the night before and she found herself smelling heavily of orange blossoms and verbena.
After everything—the skin, the hair, a preposterous amount of make-up—came the armour. Fully dressed like the doll she was, her reflection made her want to laugh. She looked like such a warped, distorted version of Fenris that she found it impossible to find anything the least bit attractive about her scant apparel. The elves, of course, assured her that she looked beautiful. Perhaps she did. She was so far beyond thinking of how she looked then that it hardly mattered. Her nerves had begun to hum in eager anticipation of slaughtering the Magister who waited for her. She wanted to paint her face with his blood and wear his viscera for a shawl. Perhaps that could be arranged.
When the skies were utterly dark outside her windows, they led her from her room. Many of the girls peeled off to complete other tasks, but Leysa—that redheaded girl who waited on her so diligently—led Hawke onwards through winding stairways and long halls. Hawke could not feel the presence of either Sebastian or Varric; that was either very good or very bad. "I hope you at least know where we're going," laughed Hawke. "This place is enormous."
"We're leaving the main house," Leysa told her.
"Oh." Again, Hawke wasn't sure whether this was good news or bad.
Merrill was just outside the door, already waiting for Hawke with an attendant of her own. Hawke smiled, wrapping an arm over Merrill's bare shoulders. "There you are, darling," she said fondly, kissing Merrill energetically on the cheek before looking her up and down. "Aren't you just freezing?" She ran her hand over the gossamer fabric that allowed her to see right through to Merrill's skin. "You look lovely, though. We may have to plead with Danarius to send us home with a few more of these fetching little outfits."
Merrill flushed pink, pressing into the circle of Hawke's embrace. "It's a bit embarrassing," she said with endearing shyness. "I don't like being looked at by anyone besides you, ma vhenan."
"I rather like it," said Hawke, pressing her lips lightly against Merrill's soft, black hair. "They can watch you and desire you, but your body is mine alone."
Merrill chuckled. "It is a bit exciting, isn't it?"
"So, are you ready to go, my love?"
"If you're with me."
Hawke turned to the slaves. "Lead on, then! The anticipation is killing me."
They were led through an open-air corridor over which arched a trellis that dripped with floral wines with which Hawke was unfamiliar. Their blossoms were small, white, and smelled of honey and clover. Overhead, the dark canvas of the sky was punctured with specks of light. Hawke hadn't seen this many stars since she had lived in Lothering; it seemed that the atmospheric light in Kirkwall was such that true nightfall never came. Even though their journey was lit only by the silver light of the moon, the slaves seemed to know this path well. Clearly they had trod this path many times before.
After a time, they deviated from their covered path and turned down a trail that had been made with flagstones of irregular shapes and sizes. The stones were cool and faintly moist beneath Hawke's bare feet. A short ways down the path, through a grove of willow trees that slouched dejectedly, Hawke could see the pale orange glow of firelight emanating from the windows of a small cottage. As she and the others drew nearer, she saw that the windows were all faintly ajar. She heard low voices coming from within. Leysa and Merrill's attendant rapped on the wooden door in unison and, from within, came Danarius' voice bidding them to enter. The slave girls bowed to the side as Merrill and Hawke made their entrance.
The room that she and Merrill entered was not large but it was certainly large enough for the purpose for which it was clearly designed. Though the room housed a large bed—its frame ornately carved and its bedding plush and inviting—that was not what drew the eye. Flush with the wall opposite the bed was a long table laden with instruments, some designed for pleasure and some for pain. Hawke's eye roved over the table, studying the array of items displayed there. There was a vase filled with the same sort of long, sharp needles she'd seen the night before; a silver tray upon which glinted perilously sharp knives; a large phallic object made of blown glass; a dark, leather bullwhip curled like a snake; a cat-of-nine-tails resting lazily beside a riding crop. There were other objects too that Hawke could not name though she could guess for what they were used. She looked away from the table and towards the center of the room where Danarius stood.
"Danarius," she cooed, dipping into a low curtsy, "Master of my heart and generous host." She lifted herself upright, smiling slightly and watching him with half-lidded eyes.
He laughed under his breath and bowed. "My sweet Hawke, my little bird—let's see if we can put that silver-tongue of yours to better use."
"Happily," she grinned. The Magister strode forward, welcoming her with a kiss. Hawke responded, lifting herself onto her toes to deepen the kiss as Danarius pressed against the line of her closed lips with his rough tongue, forcing them apart. His breath was clean and fresh, and yet the experience was oddly reminiscent of having her mouth invaded by an especially sweet-tasting slug. Even so, she allowed her body to fall against his while letting out a light, desperate moan of want. Her arms lifted around his shoulders and one of her hands curled gently into the hair that fell at the nape of his neck. Lightly, she ran her fingers over his shoulders and began to contemplate the situation in which she had found herself.
She had been right about the guards. There was one on either side of the door as well as two against the other wall as well. They were all four of them fully armed and, unlike her, dressed in armour that was not purely decorative. Merrill stood nearby the door, having been left behind when Hawke had thrown herself at Danarius.
And then there was Fenris. When she and Merrill had entered, he had been standing a pace or two behind Danarius with his eyes fixed resolutely on the floor. Though he heard them enter, he hadn't looked up even for a moment. Hawke didn't allow herself to look at him either and yet she was aware of him. His presence seemed to be screaming to her though no words were spoken and no looks exchanged. Hawke ground her hips against Danarius, eliciting a groan of pleasure.
Her odds did not look good. She and Merrill were vastly outnumbered and she had instructed Varric and Sebastian to give her time. Perhaps that hadn't been the wisest thing to do; Danarius had lunged forward without preamble and now it seemed as though time was something she most certainly did not have.
Through the linen robes he wore, Hawke could feel the growing manifestations of Danarius' desire. She spurred him onwards, moaning hungrily into his kiss while sliding one of her hands from his shoulder to his lower back, pulling his hips tighter against her undulating body. Then, abruptly, she drew back, smiling impishly. "Well, aren't we being selfish," she purred. "You know how Fenris hates to be left out of the fun." She placed tented fingers on Danarius' chest and, guiding him with the lightest of pushes, positioned him so that he was seated on the foot of the bed. She leaned forward, one hand cradling his skull as her lips slatted over his. When she drew back, he was grinning.
"You're a woman with plans, I see," he murmured, wizened hands running possessively over the bare skin of her back.
"A great many plans, I assure you," she said, bending forward still further to run her hand across his thigh. "But not all of them are for you." She stood upright, the smile on her lips barely visible. "I want to play with your toys." She bit her lower lip allowing something like hopefulness to enter her eyes. "May I?"
He chuckled, his hands holding her hips. "By all means."
"Good. Watch me." She turned and his hands trailed off her skin as she walked away from him towards the table. In all honesty, she wasn't sure where to begin. The idea of using some of these devices on Fenris was too embarrassing to contemplate. As her eyes fell on the glass phallus, she knew that she would never be able to muster the will to actually drive something like that inside of him. She had to fight back a blush at the mere thought. She ran her fingers over the devices, slowing wending her way down the table. Whatever she did, she knew that she was going to have to at least appear to be intending to hurt Fenris and yet, if she had to strike him, she didn't want it to be overly painful. Fearing that she was drawing out her decision too much, she chose the riding crop almost impulsively. When she turned, Fenris was looking at her from the corner of his eye. She sneered and approached him.
He was dressed in his old armour save for the gauntlets. Hawke wondered why Danarius had done so, making her and Fenris a matched set. It might have been purely aesthetic or perhaps he thought it would amuse her to see the docile slave wearing the costume of the man she had known in Kirkwall. She stood before him, still smiling as she stared into his face.
"Merrill, dear," she said, raising her voice slightly. Hawke looked over her shoulder and smiled. "Make sure you watch me closely. See all that I've been holding back. See how good I am to you." Merrill's eyes were wide as she stepped forward a pace or two, standing only a few feet away from Hawke.
Hawke turned back to Fenris, running her hand delicately over the black length of the riding crop. "Look at me."
He lifted his gaze, meeting hers. For a moment, she could do nothing but stare into his eyes. She was searching for something. A shred of his obstinacy. Some hint of hatred or of resistance. Maybe even hope. But there was nothing. Just moss-green depths with nothing in them. She swallowed. "Kneel," she ordered, keeping her voice firm. He obliged, averting his gaze from her as he did so. Lightly, she placed the tip of the riding crop on his chest and then proceeded to slowly run it upwards until it was beneath his chin, forcing him to look up at her. "Did I say you could look away?" she said acerbically, smiling with clenched teeth. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
"I am sorry."
"Good." She began to circle him appraisingly, the riding crop feather-light against him as she paced around him. "Such a good boy," she murmured, plastering her face with a mocking smile. "So obedient. So good. On your knees like the good little pet you are." The leather tip of the crop passed over his cheekbone, running just under his open and vacant eyes. He watched her, his eyes tracking her every movement. "I do love this side of you, Fenris." She lowered the crop, letting it swing lazily in her hand as she lifted the other to lightly play with his hair. It was soft—almost like the feathers of a baby bird. She twirled a lock around one of her fingers, tugging at it. "But even at your strongest, you were still just a fragile little toy, weren't you? Always blaming everybody else for your problems. Always whining and complaining. Baring your soul to anyone who pretended to care for you. It's funny, isn't it? To think that someone with so much potential could be so pathetic." She lowered her hand from his hair and let it rest on his shoulder. She stooped forward, her lips barely brushing against his ear. "Is this really all you are?" She straightened, lifting the riding crop once more and smacking it against her open palm. "Stand up."
He stood, movements smooth and graceful. She marveled at his composure; there was no possible way the he could be enjoying this and yet he made no complaint and offered no resistance. She was not sure whether this signified extraordinary strength or if it was an indication of just how irrevocably beaten down he had become.
"Strip," she ordered, remembering that they were being observed by eager eyes. Fenris' hands were steady and practiced as he removed the hard shell that covered his torso. It was necessary for him to lower his eyes as he did so and, as she stood watching him undress, Hawke suddenly felt sickeningly voyeuristic. Turning her gaze to Danarius, she bowed her head slightly and smiled at him. Though her display with Fenris had been relatively calm so far, she could tell that it had been pleasing to the Magister nonetheless. With one of his aged hands, he was rubbing lazily at the bulge that was evident beneath his robes. His eyes were still sharp and observant, but she could see already that they were fogging over with a haze of lust. Just a little bit further and he'd be off his guard. Abruptly, she stepped towards Fenris just as he'd shed his tunic. She grasped his hands, preventing him from undressing further. "Fenris," she demanded, "tell me how much you love your master."
Fenris' eyes flicked over to Danarius and then back towards Hawke. "I love my master," he said gruffly.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Danarius slip his hands beneath his robes, moving them more fervently. "And yet you're going to fuck me right in front of him?" She clucked her tongue. "That's not very loyal of you."
"I do as he asks of me," he said, eyes meeting hers. As he answered, his voice was flat but in those eyes there was something. Something like annoyance. Something almost like he hated her. It was a look she knew; a look she remembered. It was subdued, hidden beneath a thick layer of impassivity and submissiveness, but it was there. The faintest glimmer of the Fenris she had known. The smile that spread across her face then was real.
Impulsively, she stepped forward and, with one of her hands at the nape of Fenris' neck, pulled his lips over hers. She imagined that this, at least would hold Danarius' attention for a bit longer. As if in confirmation of that, she heard him moan slightly. Close-mouthed, she held her lips to Fenris' and mimicked the sound Danarius had made.
Beneath her hands and pressed against her body, Fenris stood still. He could feel the hand that had pulled him into the kiss seeming to grow lighter against his neck to the point where it scarcely had any weight at all. Her other hand, the one still holding that damned riding crop, was in a fist at the small of his back, pulling his hips towards her. Their bodies were flush together and, though she was the one who had positioned them in this manner, he found that she now held him in place with scarcely any force. In all his memory, lips had never pressed to his so lightly. He could barely feel the pressure she was exerting on him and yet that somehow served to make him all the more aware of her. She smelled sweetly of orange blossoms. She smelled of the springtime he had missed.
There was something in her touch—perhaps the lightness of it—that seemed to beg him to intensify the kiss. It was as though she was asking him to take control rather than exerting her will upon him. Why would she do that? He tested her, tentatively wrapping his arms around the small of her back and pulling her slightly closer to him. In response, she sighed contentedly against his lips. Everyone kept speaking as if he should know her. She spoke as if she knew him. How? His eyes fluttered open; hers were closed, her lashes casting shadows across her cheeks. He closed his eyes once more and pulled her tighter against his body. Her thigh shifted against him, her hips pressed against his and matched every shifting movement of his body. She was small for a human, he found, and fit well in his arms. It was odd that he should notice it.
It was odd also to be the driving force behind an embrace. Odd that she had not slid her tongue into his mouth. He considered running his tongue over the closed line of her lips, testing that boundary. He wondered if that's what she was expecting him to do. Cautiously, he tried it. Her mouth opened to his and, daringly, he slipped his tongue inside. Her hips ground against his, showing approval of his initiative. It was a strange sensation having control of the speed and pace of the kiss and to have the sense that, if he wanted it to end, he would be allowed to stop it. He remembered the sadness that he had imagined in her eyes the night before.
Fenris did not anticipate being disappointed when the kiss ended, but when she pulled back, he heard himself groan in protest. She looked into his eyes, finding them glassy and unfocused. As she smiled at him, her expression nowhere near as malicious as it needed to be, his confusion showed. She stroked the nape of his neck lightly with her hand, meeting his gaze imploringly. Looking at her, he drew his brow slightly, trying to guess what it was she wanted from him. She leaned forward, her breath warm against his naked skin as she whispered, "Haven't you ever wanted more?" Her tone conveyed more than her words and, somehow, he found that he knew what she was asking.
"Not anymore," he sighed, turning his head towards her and hiding his mouth in her hair so that Danarius could not see his words.
She leaned forward, lightly kissing the lyrium tattoos that adorned the side of his neck and murmuring against his skin as she did so. "You were free once. You can be free again. Please. Please let me make you remember what it's like to live as a free man." Her hands slid lower, continuing the show, and tentatively dipped past his lower back to slide under his clothes to gently cup his ass beneath her palms. His muscles were firm under the light pressure of her hands. "Please let me show you the kind of man you were before."
"How?" he breathed, his voice barely audible.
Hawke shifted her hips against him and, to her surprise, felt that he was hard. Something deep within her seemed to flip uncomfortably and, panicking, she pulled her body away slightly to ease the friction between their bodies. "Come with me. Run with me," she whispered hurriedly, a note of pleading entering her voice. Off to the side, she heard Danarius. No doubt he was stroking himself more desperately now that she was blatantly groping Fenris' ass. "Let me kill him. Don't fight me." She waited, but Fenris said nothing. "I know you have no reason to trust me. I know that. But please, Fenris. Please." She leaned away from him, watching his expression.
It was only a moment, perhaps, but to Hawke it seemed infinitely longer. She didn't know the man who stood before her and she could only guess at his reactions. Almost shaking, she looked at him with naked eyes. "Please," she breathed.
He nodded. It was barely a movement, but it was all she needed. Ecstatically, she leaned in once more and moved her lips against his. When she pulled away, her expression was hardened once more and infused with heat and lust. One hand remained resting on Fenris' shoulder while the other, riding crop dropping from her fingers, extended out towards Danarius.
"I was wondering how long you were going to keep me in anticipation," the magister said sensuously, rising from the bed and lifting his robes off over his head as he strode towards them. Admiringly, Hawke looked his body over and smiled.
"The wait makes it so much sweeter," she mumbled, rising onto her toes to kiss Danarius. Just one powerful shock would be enough to knock him out for a moment. Then the guards. Then she'd finish him for good. Just one bolt of lightning would do. One of her hands rested on his neck as she pulled him into the kiss while the other hung at her side, power swelling in her palm.
She should have known better. Should have known that a Magister—a blood mage far more powerful than she—would be able to guess at her intentions. Of course he'd be able to sense the magic building in the room. She'd been naïve to suppose otherwise.
Danarius threw her from him with such force that she slid across the floor, her spine slamming brutally against the leg of the table. "Merrill!" she cried out, knowing even as she did so that it was already too late. The guards that had stood beside the door had pounced on the elf the moment Danarius had thrown Hawke to the floor. Merrill was crying out, struggling and trying to cast, but they pinned her hands against the wall, binding her movements and her ability to use her magic.
Desperately, and in spite of the pain that radiated from where her spine had been deeply bruised, Hawke sent the lightning hurtling for Danarius' heart. It was too late. He had erected a glowing, spherical barrier around himself now which she could not penetrate.
The other pair of guards came for her, slamming her face-down onto the floor and clutching her wrists. She flailed against them, screaming as loudly as she could in the vain hope that Varric and Sebastian would hear her. Though she bucked against the guards, she could not dislodge them.
"Tie her wrists," Danarius ordered, letting his personal barrier drop as the threat passed. As his guards followed his instruction, Danarius erected a new barrier: one which encapsulated the room, shutting out all chance of intruders and any shadow of hope for rescue. Wild-eyed, Hawke looked up at Danarius.
He was smiling. "I thought you were more clever than this, dear girl. To have the gall to think that you could take on a Magister?" He shook his head. "How little you know of power. Would you like a lesson in it? I believe I have the time for such instruction. Time enough to show you the power I have. The power you will never have." His grin widened. "Guards," he said jovially, "relieve Serrah Hawke of the clothes I have so generously bestowed upon her."
They bore down upon her. Her magic was useless without her hands, but she tried. Frantically, she kicked her legs out like a child in tantrum; once or twice she made contact before one of the guards hurled the weight of his entire body across her thighs, pinning them to the floor. The other was fumbling to remove her breastplate but she squirmed industriously, snapping her teeth at him. She managed to catch the flesh of his forearm in her mouth. Blood poured into her mouth as she clenched down her jaw with all her might and jerked her head viciously to the side. In response, the guard slammed his free hand down on her throat. She gasped for air, coughing violently. She'd released his arm, which was now missing only a small piece of skin, and now he held her by the throat, pinning her even more securely to the floor. "We can't get the bitch out of her armour if she struggles like this," the wounded guard objected.
Danarius chuckled. "Very true. But you'll have help. Fenris?"
Hawke's heart was beating painfully and merely taking in breath was a struggle. She tried to lift her head to see Fenris' face, but the guard slammed her head back against the floor. Somewhere off in the distance, somewhere beyond the blood that was pounding deafeningly in her ears, she heard Merrill shouting, fighting. Hawke wished that she could tell her to stop. The last thing they needed was for Danarius to decide that both of them needed to be punished for this transgression. She tried to turn her head to look at Merrill but the grip around her throat tightened.
Hawke heard footsteps drawing near her and tried to move. It was impossible. She was trapped beneath the crushing force of the guards. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fenris looming. When he knelt beside her, leaning over her, she looked up desperately into his face. He wouldn't meet her gaze now and she was no longer in the position to demand it of him. She felt her eyes growing hot with tears; she'd failed him. Now they no longer had even the element of surprise on their side. She'd failed and Fenris would pay the price for it for the rest of his life.
She closed her eyes as she felt him begin to strip her of her breastplate. Her breath came in shallow gulps as he slipped it from her body. She was shaking now, trembling against the floor. She wanted to open her eyes, but she couldn't look up at his blank, empty face. She couldn't look at the guards who held her down, now gazing heavily at her naked skin. She tried to stop from shaking, tried to stop them from having the satisfaction of frightening her. But she was frightened. She was frightened as the guard who kept her lower half still forced her knees apart. She was frightened as the thin, delicate blade of a dagger cut away her meager skirt and smallclothes. She was frightened and, worst of all, they knew it.
Danarius laughed. "Well, that is lovely, isn't it?" She heard his slow tread approaching her and opened her eyes. "Let the poor girl, see," he told his guards. Obediently, one of them forced her torso upwards, knelt beneath her and laid her head propped up on his lap. He kept his hand locked painfully over her throat all the while. Danarius stood above her now, still bare and unashamed. Between her legs, still forcing them apart, was the second guard. His eyes roved over her exposed skin, a hungry glint in them that made her stomach turn. She took rapid, panicked breaths and could see the rise and fall of her body as she did so.
"Fuck you," she hissed, scowling upwards at Danarius with as much rage as she could muster.
And of course he laughed at her. Brave words coming from someone incapable of doing anything but writhing helplessly. "Watch your tongue, Hawke; you're too lovely a girl to have such a dirty mouth." He turned his eyes downwards towards Fenris, a smile curling on his lips as he eyed his property. "Fenris," Danarius said, his voice wheedling, "Don't you think that she's lovely?"
"Yes, Master." His voice was low and flat once more.
"Wouldn't you like to touch her, Fenris?"
"Yes, Master."
Danarius gestured towards Hawke with his hand as though she were a feast laid out across the supper table. "Then, by all means, enjoy yourself, my little wolf. It would be a pity if you didn't at least get a taste."
Fenris looked at her and, when he met her eye, it felt as if he had done so by accident. Quickly, he looked away. "Yes, Master," he repeated.
"Wonderful," chuckled Danarius. "Soldier, make room between her thighs; give the lad his space."
The guard's grip on her legs loosened and Hawke took full advantage, bucking her hips and kicking out with her legs. The guard grunted as her heel made contact with his chin. "Oh, must I do everything myself," lamented Danarius. He swept down beside her, wrenching one of her legs to the side while the guard took the other. She was immobilized now. With all the effort that it took to make her so, Hawke wondered that Danarius didn't just fix her with a spell. But then again, maybe he liked to see her struggle.
She turned her eyes to the magister once more, erasing the fear and disgust she felt. "I'm still going to kill you," she snarled.
"You're welcome to try," he said, his voice sickly sweet.
She felt a hand join the others on her skin and her gaze was diverted from Danarius' face. It was as if Fenris had been reminding her of his presence, not wanting to go further until she was made aware of him. He met her eyes this time and the touch of pain she saw in them did little to comfort her as he crawled between her legs.
Hawke watched as Fenris bowed his head towards the apex of her thighs. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she felt his breath wash, hot and humid, across her bare femininity. His white hair fell forward over his forehead and brushed against her skin. She sobbed dryly and closed her eyes, unable to watch any longer. His lips were gentle as he pressed a light kiss to her inner thigh. Shivering, she fought back the urge to plead with him. Biting the inside of her cheek, she drew blood.
His tongue dipped against her gently and she shook convulsively as those damn tears tried to force their way out of her eyes. She would rather it have been Danarius. She would rather have been able to hate the man who lightly flicked the tip of his tongue against her clit, attempting to arouse her. Hate would have been better than this. But she couldn't hate him as his mouth pressed against her. It wasn't his fault. His mouth was so warm and his efforts so earnest. She couldn't hate him, but she hated herself. Hated herself for having put them all in this position. Hated herself for wanting him to keep touching her. She hated herself for all the things that were her fault and a hundred things that weren't.
She felt a shiver pass over her skin and gasped. Danarius laughed and her eyes started open. "Well done, my little wolf, I think you've snared a Hawke. And with so little effort. She really is a whore, isn't she? Use your hands, Fenris; you're making the poor thing desperate."
Panic rushed through her, making her quiver violently. She felt Fenris' long, tapered fingers run cautiously against her now slick entrance. She trembled, squeezing her eyes shut. "Please don't," she whispered and, immediately, wanted to clap her hands over her mouth.
Another peal of laughter, the guards joining in with Danarius now. "I'm sorry, Hawke," laughed the Magister, "but Fenris only takes orders from his master."
He was inside of her now, moving slowly but deliberately. He watched her reactions, learning where she was sensitive, and then bowed his head to her once more. She felt it more than she would have liked. Her damnable body, dependent on chemicals beyond her control, forced her to feel the pleasure of being explored. There was no fighting back tears now; they spilled across her cheeks as she fought back the sounds of her sobbing as well as the whine of pleasure that threatened to fight its way through her anger and sadness. She felt her muscles spasm against the hands that held her, felt the heat rising in her skin; she was gasping shallowly, almost there—when he was pulled away from her.
She screamed as Danarius cracked the riding crop against her cunt. Fenris had made her so sensitive, so receptive to touch. The shattering, sharp pain brought words to her mouth she didn't mean to say. She hadn't wanted to beg. She hadn't wanted to cry and plead. But her voice and her flesh were no longer her own. She was at his mercy now. Maybe this was justice.
She felt the heat of Danarius' warm body as he positioned himself above her. The hardness of his erection brushed against her, setting her shaking so violently that it seemed as if her bones would rattle down to dust.
He took his cock in his hand, rubbing it against her to gather some of her wetness. Her teeth tore at her inner cheek as she tried to bite back her sobbing pleas, but they fought past her lips. Her muscles tightened as he prepared to press himself inside of her. And then his body fell across her own, heavy and limp. Her skin—her whole body—was sprayed with something warm and wet. Opening her eyes, Hawke saw the thick blood that clung to her eyelashes. She looked down at the body that lay atop her. There was a large, gushing wound in his back that extended all the way out through his chest. The blood spilled over her even as his intestines began to spill from the open cavity that had been created in his body.
She looked up from the body and saw the glow of Fenris' lyrium, almost blinding, as he swiftly snapped the necks of the guards who held her. His movements were so quick that she could barely perceive him as he moved in on the others, driving his hands into their torsos and letting them fall limply to the floor in deep pools of their own blood.
It was silent then. The quiet pulsed in her ears and the metallic stench of blood flooded her nostrils, emanating from the dark liquid that covered her body and leaked from the corpse that rested upon her. Death had not freed Danarius of his erection and, overcome with a new wave of disgust, Hawke tried to squirm free from beneath the corpse that was draped heavily across her. She hadn't the strength in her weakened, shaking limbs and the imprisoning weight of the body awoke new terror in her. She had only just whimpered when the weight was gone and the corpse cast roughly to the side.
Fenris stood above her, quite still and looking as if he were unsure of what he was supposed to do next. Then, hesitantly, he knelt at Hawke's side and deftly unfastened the ties that had bound her wrists. When he touched her, easing her slightly away from the floor so that he could reach her bindings, his fingers were light and unsteady against her skin. When he rose again, looking down at Hawke with uncertainty still in his eyes, Fenris slowly held out his blood-drenched hand. She reached up to him, letting him pull her to her feet. Her legs shook beneath her weight, but she grasped his forearm for support. She might have thanked him, but in that instant Danarius' barrier fell and the door was thrown open. Varric and Sebastian and rushed in, somewhat breathless and bruised from having fought an impenetrable door as they had tried in vain to reach her. They looked frantically around the room, but when they saw that all threats had been dispatched, they could look only at her. She looked back at them, too tired and drained to care about something as trivial as hiding her nakedness.
Sebastian moved to the bed and yanked off one of the blankets that lay across it. He came towards her, eyes fixed on her face, and draped it around her shoulders. She lifted her hands, pulling it tightly around herself. "Are you...?" he began, looking gravely into her eyes.
"I'm fine," Hawke said, answering the question he'd been unable to ask.
Again, that deafening silence. A room full of people and no one could think of anything to say. Hawke laughed quaveringly. "Well, the plan really fell apart there, didn't it?"
"Hawke…." began Merrill in a gentle voice. Hawke shook her head to cut her off.
"No. This isn't the time for that. I'm fine. We have to go." In the corner, she saw a wash basin filled with water. She moved to it and released the blanket that she held around herself. Dipping it into the water, she attempted to clean the blood off her skin where it would be most conspicuous—her face, her arms.
"Fenris," she said, turning to him. "Get the blood off yourself as best you can." She held out the sopping wet blanket to him. He seemed startled that she had spoken to him, but he came forward. "Alright," Hawke said, making her way over to the others. "Does anyone have any clothes they can lend me? I seem to be without."
As instructed, Varric and Sebastian had each prepared small satchels filled with only the most basic necessities that they would need while they were on the run. Fortunately, that seemed to have included a single change of clothes for each of them. Hawke, and Merrill as well, clad themselves in simple mages' robes. While they changed, Sebastian stared fixedly at the wall. "We have to go," Hawke sighed, glad to have to warmth of clothing around her once more. She turned towards the back of the room. "Fenris?" Again, he started when she said his name. "Come on, Fenris," she added, holding out her hand to him.
He slunk towards her, his eyes downcast, and grasped her hand. "Good," she murmured, squeezing his hand gently. "Let's get out of this shithole."
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
1- I feel as if it behooves me to talk about this chapter. This note is largely my inane ramblings so feel free to move on with your day/night. With the Hawke/Danarius business, I really couldn't decide whether or not to go all the way with the sexual assault. Ultimately, I chose not to because Hawke's story here is really more about the emotional stains created when you make a terrible choice and then realize that there's no easy Undo Button. Adding another level to that seemed unnecessary to me. Granted, sexual assault is traumatizing whether there's penetration or not… but this is neither the time nor the place for that discussion.
2- I also was originally going to make her be a lot rougher with Fenris than she is here in a real effort to sell it to Danarius. But as I was writing it, it felt oddly out of character. Granted, she's not a great person but she's still upset by what she saw the night before. She really doesn't want to force Fenris into anything that he's uncomfortable with.
