the prompt:Rendon Howe likes to collect things, or specifically people. One part of his collection is Zev, who never became a Crow but instead became a whore and is now owned by Howe.

The Couslands are massacred and Howe has their daughter brought back to him for his 'entertainment'. See, Howe likes to watch (you can use any excuse, maybe he can't actually get it up anymore, or has an epically small cock), and he wants to watch Zevran do F!Cousland.

Would be grateful if both Zev and F!Cousland don't want to but don't have a choice, and Zev tries to make it not too terrible as he can tell that F!Cousland is a virgin or inexperienced (whichever is up to write!anon). Howe wants to see some knife play, because he's a sick man.

Bonus points if Howe has some noble buddies join him to watch the events (they can recognise F!Cousland but don't do anything about it due to fear/secretly liking seeing her get fucked.

the fill:

The elf had surprised him. A gift brought from one of his underlings travels, at first Rendon Howe had politely received the blonde elf, had a bare room set up among his other 'pets' and then forgotten about him.

Then, on a whim, he had brought the elf out, as a humiliation to the young woman who had been caught thieving from the pantry. The idea of debasing the woman before he cut off her hand by making her lay with a lowly knife-ear while being watched by her lord had pleased him, so, under armed guard, the whoreson elf was fetched.

Golden eyes burned, and Howe was stuck by the thought of quenching that fire. It took some time, and many threats from a particularly racist guardsman before he performed as Howe wished. The sight of bronzed flesh, slim and unmarred, succumbing to the basest of pleasures, even as he glared at Howe was divine. Soft low words, edged with accent, dictating what he was doing poured from the elf, making Howe's breath catch as he listened. The elf has seen the effect, and then continued, telling the woman how tight she was, how soft and how *wet*. Howe had felt himself react, in a way he had long since thought impossible. When the elf finished with the woman, both sweating and panting for breath on the floor, Howe himself was flushed. So lost in the joy of finding a new favourite, with such unexpected appeal, Howe forgot to order the woman's hand removed, instead ordering that the elf, Zevran, be moved to a much more comfortable room.

The elf was not grateful.

After the second attempt at escape, only marginally better than the first, which had seen him caught before he'd even left the wing of the estate, Rendon Howe paid a visit to Zevran.

His hands had been bound behind him, painfully so, by the way the elf bend forwards. He wore only simple trousers, but that was not unusual. There was a gash on the side of his head, where a guard had slammed a fist into him, when he had kicked and resisted recapture. Howe had been mildly amused to hear the reports of the elf trying to use a sword, swinging it wildly only for it to clatter harmlessly against armour. Still, such disobedience could not be permitted to continue.

He had entered without knocking. Narrowed eyes watched him, as he sat upon a simple chair by the side of the bed, hands folded under his chin.

"Now Zevran... I believe I warned you that should you try to escape again, there would be consequences..."

Zevran said nothing.

"Quiet now? That is a disappointment. I do so enjoy hearing you speak..."

"I find I have nothing to say to you..." He had not lost his accent, and there was a bite to his words. He would not insult Howe, not after the last time, where Howe had let the guard grab and twist his wrist so that it was bruised and swollen for days. It did sound like he very much wanted to though.

"Pity." Howe took a deep breath, calculating his next move. The elf had not be won over by gifts of wine, or a choice of bed partners (with Howe watching, naturally). Violence could be used to keep him in check, but Howe was wary that one day Zevran would figure out that he was too valuable a prize to be damaged extensively. No... some creativity would have to be applied here.

Howe reached over, and ran a single finger down Zevran's cheek, watching as the elf fought to not flinch at the touch. A slow thin smile crept across his face, as he hooked two fingers under Zevran's jaw, lifting his neck painfully upwards.

"Come with me, my pet. Your punishment awaits."

He knew he should count himself lucky. To find himself in the service of one of the Ferelden high lords, fed well and comfortably housed, he should bow and be thankful to Rendon Howe for such a life. Coming from a whorehouse, he did not mind his 'duties', could even found pleasure in the acts Howe had him perform. Being watched, commanded, these things held no horror for him, no, he simply did not like Howe.

That it had taken several weeks before he was addressed as anything but 'the elf' did not help, but even then, he could tolerate the slurs and being treated as little more than a dog. Actually, no, this was Ferelden, even the mabahri held more respect than he. That was the issue, that he was a possession, bought and sold at whim. His habit of speaking during sex, watching as his words causing deep blushes and deeper effect had gained him some form of favouritism... for now.

He had thought about making another dash for freedom, but his head still ached, and his hands bound still, he decided he would face whatever 'punishment' Howe had planned, and bide his time till a more promising opportunity arose. When he followed meekly into the room, and saw the table in the centre of the room, draped in leather straps, he felt a cold dread creep into his bones.

"Sit on the table." Howe said, and there was suddenly a guard behind him to block the doorway. He scanned the room, breathing rapid, feet fixed to the floor. Two other men were in the room, another guard and a unarmored mousey man, standing by Howe's usual ornate chair, positioned by the head of the table. The little man looked out of place, and nervous. He held onto a large leather pouch, and would not meet Zevran's eyes.

Eventually, Zevran took a shaky step forwards, and then another. He sat on the table, mouth too dry to ask what was going to happen. His hands were unbound, and a heavy hand on his shoulder pushed him down to lay upon the table. Straps were laid across his chest, and tightened, then he saw Howe and the small man approach. Howe looked deep in thought.

"His face perhaps, across the cheek like a dwarf... To let everyone know that he is mine. What do you think...?"

"The face can be painful m'lord."

"Good. Proceed."

When he saw the man pull a long needle from the pouch, and move towards his face with it, Zevran started to twist on the table. One guard held his head while the other took a strap and placed it over his forehead, binding him to the table. The little man paled as he dipped the needle into a pot of ink and then started to prick a line under his eye.

It hurt, but not as much as the realisation that he was being marked, branded as nothing more than Howe's pet elf. He knew Howe was watching, rapt as the ink was applied into a dark swirl, a stylish 'H' sweeping over the tan skin of Zevran's left cheek. He stopped struggling, and let the man finish. When it was done, he wiped his face with a wet cloth, and stepped back to let Howe observe his work.

"Nice... Very nice..." Howe stroked his cheek, his fingers coming away bloody. The man breathed an audible sigh of relief, and started to pack the little pots and needles away. Howe turned, ignoring Zevran staring up at him, hatred burning in his eyes.

"You are not finished yet." he said, quietly, and moved out of Zevran's line of sight. Zevran felt his trousers being pulled down, and more straps fixed to hold each leg down. He felt a hand on him, running down till it came to rest upon his member.

"Here as well. Something simple, a circle, I think."

"No! Please! ... No..." Zevran started to pull against the bindings, fear and anger blazing inside him. No-one listened. As needle stabbed repeatedly into tender flesh, he felt tears welling up, the saltwater stinging his cheek as he wept, all the time crying out, pleading, begging for the pain to stop.

His throat was raw when the man was finally permitted to pack his things and scurry away. Still on the table, drained and defeated, Zevran coldly observed Howe walk around, and say simply; "Mine."

Howe congratulated himself. Not only on having patience enough for the tattoos to heal, but also on the effect on the elf. Obedient, and resigned, and no less beautiful as he obeyed each of Howe's increasingly perverse demands. Ladies, and men as well, all conquered by the golden elf, the black of the ink on his flesh striking. He would use candles, and the blade of a dagger, and a burning brand at Howe's was fire in those eyes still, but fear and acknowledgement had tempered it, it burned quiet and controlled now.

Howe himself would not lay with the elf, he could not bring himself to rut with the lower creature. Seeing him brought pleasure though, even if his position barred him from ever taking his release anywhere other than his private bedchambers. Most nights, he would watch Zevran perform, the elf's sexual stamina splendid, and one occasion he would allow under of the nobles under him to join him. There was power in that, too.

Howe was not stupid, he kept an armed guard with him at all times, and did not allow the elf to walk unescorted. His door was locked, always. Zevran seemed to accept this, and had not made another attempt to escape. It had been made clear than the next attempt would see a hobbling block put to use. This seemed to deter any notions of freedom, and Zevran continued to be called upon more than any of Howe's other pets.

He had already decided that the elf would bed the young Cousland girl, as soon as he finalised the plans for the massacre. Then he'd let his guards take their turn, but Zevran would have the first honour. Licking his lips, he set out for house Cousland.

Zevran was seated beside Howe. His chair was not as grand, and he knew he would not sit there long, but his continued 'good behaviour' had earned him this token of status. The guards knew he was Howe's favourite, and acted accordingly, moving to let him past when he walked, keeping their tongues civil. Such was the way things were now. Weeks had slowly become months, and he could feel the fight leaving him, bowing to Howe's will instead of keeping his own.

There was another noble in the room, standing on Howe's other side, dressed well. Zevran had seen this man before, he often was invited to join Howe in watching Zevran. That he was not offered a chair amused Zevran.

Howe seemed in a particularly good mood, and his smile was smug. He had not yet told Zevran what, or more likely, who this 'surprise' was, but Zevran noted coldly that there was already a selection of knives laid out. When two guards brought in the redhead, one already bleeding from the lip and the other holding a handful of hair as well as being careful to keep out of biting range, Zevran raised a brow at Howe.

"Elissa Cousland... Welcome." Howe's words made the other noble turn sharply, mouth open in what looked like aghast.

"Your family are dead, your house now mine." still talking to the redhead, but also answering the nobleman's unspoken questions, Howe's words seemed to at the same time reassure the nobleman, while enraging the woman. She was dressed in bloodied clothes, that looked like they might have one day been expensive. She screamed, spat and snarled, feral and wild, and Zevran wondered at the spirit the woman showed. Some part of him was sadly envious.

"Zevran, my pet, I have decided that you will fuck her, before I send her to the barracks. Bare in mind she is my enemy, and spare her not." Her head snapped from Howe's to meet his, to see what manner of man would carry out such an order. There was blood in her hair, and her eyes were dark and scrunched into a tight knot of hate. She was beautiful, and she was going to die. If not physically, then her mind would surely perish. Zevran had seen the evil Howe was capable of, and knew that no matter how strong, how valiant this woman was, she could not hope to hold out against him.

He stood, his bare chest rising slow and steady, trying to hide his hammering heart. He did not want to be part of this, did not want to be part reasonable for breaking of this woman. Elissa pushed forwards, despite two guards holding her, and gnashed her teeth at Zervan's face, daring him to try and continue. Zevran made an exaggerated sigh, and turned to Howe.

"This will be difficult. I think I'd be better off trying to bed a rabid wolf..." then, to one of the guards, "Bind her hands infront of her, if you would be so kind."

The guard faltered, and hung his head. "I have no rope..."

Zevran sighed again, and took the cord from his trousers, paying no heed that they now sagged, and looked likely to fall at any moment. He tossed it to the guard and crossed his arms. His look of irritation at the guard's lack of forethought hid his quiet hope of the plan that was forming in his head. Both guards had to hold her, as she tossed her entire body from side to side, but her hands were bound. Her words were furious, and almost intelligible, and when she twisted to see Zevran, she saw he had already selected a dagger from the bench, and walked towards her. She stilled in shock as he ran the edge of the blade down her chest, over a breast.

"That is better... Now, be a good girl while I cut off these rags." She was about to make another move to fight back, but Zevran let the blade dig in to the soft skin, more than he had intended, and they both saw the fresh blood. She fumed, but bore the sensation of being stripped, Zevran clumsily hacking at her clothes until she was naked. He stepped back, and was pleased to see that she was watching him intently, her focus on glaring rather than struggling with the guards. It made the next part easier.

"Let her go. I think I can handle her from here."

He could not have planned it better. The second one of the guards had released her hair, she swung round, forehead connecting solidly with his nose. The other jumped back and Zevran bore the dagger again, bringing it to her neck and holding it there, one leg between hers, keeping her off balance, and his hand on her hers, pulling back to control her. He looked at the guards, one holding his face, blood seeping from between his fingers.

"You. Best get yourself sorted. You there, go and guard Howe, in case this little bitch tries anything further." The guards turned to Howe for confirmation, who nodded, more intend on watching Zevran struggle with the Cousland. In the end, he had to kick the back of her knees, causing her to fall forwards with a crack against the floor. He calmly observed the room. Besides himself and Elissa, there was one guard, one nobleman, and Rendon Howe. All armed, and he knew the guard and Howe could fight better than he ever could. He wished he had time, or privacy, to whisper his plan to Elissa, who had gotten over the sharp pain of knees connecting with stone, and had begun to writhe again, hissing that he was a dead elf. He had been right, this *was* going to be difficult.

"You dance so, I can hardly wait to see you in the throes of ecstasy, as I fuck you deep, and hard." He caught the look, the fear, and knew with gathering dread that he would find a complete maidenhead between her legs. A better man would have stopped there, stood up and let Howe punishment him for disobeying. A more skilled man might have been able to fight, to somehow use the dagger to slay the foes and save the damsel. A wiser man might have managed to think of a different plan, one that would save Elissa from such violation. But he was just himself, the son of a whore, and sex was the one weapon that he had. So that was what he would use.

Howe had the familiar look of arousal, and the nobleman seemed to be losing the battle between his unease at the target of the evening's entertainment and unbridled lust. The guard had too much armour to tell, but Zevran was fairly sure that the slight uncomfortable shuffle from foot to foot was result of the panting creature on the floor, the elf upon her stroking across her hip slowly. He took a deep breath, and rested the dagger on her shoulder, letting the weight of it touch her collarbone. The other hand ran up the shivered skin of her back and into her hair. Using as little force as he could, he brought her up to her knees, hands in front, facing Howe. He had to use the dagger to warn against any further struggling. He looked over her shoulder, and forced a smile at the man.

"Shall i cut her for you? *Mark* her?" the words tasted foul on his tongue, but he knew from the past that both Howe and the nobleman shared a strong longing to see pain, to see blood. He suspected the guard would also react well, given the way he had brought Elissa into the room, no sign of remorse or hesitation in his actions.

"Yes." Howe's voice was soft, his breath quick and shallow.

Zevran pulled at her hair, and pressed his lips to Elissa's shoulder and neck, kissing lightly, feeling her pulse quicken as he brought the dagger up. He swallowed hard, and then, quick as he was able, cut a horizontal line across her cheek. It was as light as he could manage, but the blood still gathered and dripped down her face. The next cut was down a breast, stopping short of her exposed nipple. She was breathing through bared teeth again, and he dared not loosen his grip of her hair lest she attack and earn herself the guard holding her once more.

He left the dagger, held against her breast, and stretched round to lay a kiss upon her lips. It was gentle, and he hoped somehow it might convey his plan, his sorrow and his guilt. Elissa's eyes flared and he only just managed to move back as her teeth flashed and snapped. He fisted his hand, drawing her head back to a painful angle. She coughed, struggling to breath.

"Now now, little one. *Behave*..."

Normally, he was instructed to lay each knife back upon the bench. Howe was careful not to leave weapons in the hands of his pets, no matter how poor they were with a dagger. Zevran carefully looked at Howe, and placed the dagger down by his own knee, and then quickly used his now free hand to trail lines of red in the blood across Elissa's chest. The sight overrode his usual insistence on returning blades, and Howe watched transfixed as curls of blood were drawn over the breasts and belly of the redhead, before slipping down between her legs.

"My, you are so soft down here." Fingers stroking against the hair, willing her to bare with him for just a little while longer. He felt her body tense, and she somehow managed to growl a new series of threat and insults, even with her head pulled back so far back. He had to twist his body, so that he could reach, and he could not deny that the feeling of moisture on his fingers, the way Elissa trembled as he let a finger slip a little deeper had an effect on him. His cock stiffened, and he felt Elissa cringe away from the heated bulge.

"Hmmm," he breathed aloud, "So soft. Like silk... Hot, sweet silk..." He could see Howe becoming impatient, irritated at the gentleness Zevran was showing. He looked up, and smiled softly at the nobleman, sliding his fingers out and touching them to the tip of his tongue.

"How.. how does she taste?" the nobleman managed to stutter out, and Zevran watched Howe bite back a demand to ravage the woman in front of him, in favour of hearing his reply.

"Like brandy, hot and heated, warming, smooth and sharp, all at once..." over poetic perhaps, but Zevran could not well say she tasted of salt and guilt. The guard made a small choked noise, and Zevran flicked his fingers to his chair, a knowing grin flashing teeth.

"I shall not be using that chair for a long, long time. You are free to take the weight off your feet ser guard." The guard almost moved before waiting for Howe's nod, then sat gracelessly in the chair, shuffling until his armour was not quite so tight across his groin.

Elissa bucked under him, trying to shift the weight of the elf from her back. He saw water drip from her face onto the floor between her bound hands, and knew she was weeping. Partly to save himself from seeing her tears, partly because he could feel himself growing increasingly unsure at his true intention, Zevran moved behind her, shucking his trousers off his hips and kicking them across the floor. He arranged himself, his knees inside hers, pushing her legs open.

"I am going to fuck you now, my little one. As I do, I want you to look at Rendon Howe. Let him see you twist and writhe as my cock claims you."

She made a noise, a low keening wail as he entered her, slowly. He tried to work carefully, his thrusts measured to break her maidenhead as gently as he was able. Elissa however, fought against him, trying to pull away, trying to beat her body back at him. He felt it when something deep inside gave way, and she clenched in pain and shock. He rocked inside her, hoping to ease the sensation away in favour of more pleasurable ones. The feeling of tight, trembling flesh against his cock, especially the sensitive skin under the black inked circle that wrapped round the thickest part, fired his lust. She moaned, and the three men in front of them all breathed deep. Zevran knew that he should be speaking, but could find no words to describe her, how her back arched into his chest, how her soft whimpers fanned his desire. How, even as she was taken, she was beautiful. His hips started to push forwards, a hand on her hip steading her, stroking across the bone as he pounded deep into her. His control, careful and calculated, started to fade as his body drove towards his release. He chanced a glance up, and saw the guard's face a deep embarrassed crimson, while Howe's was set into a cruel smile at the sight before him. He paid no heed to the elf, instead watching as Elissa's face reflected every single thrust as she grew closer to orgasm.

His seed spurted from him, and he slumped forwards, over her back, his hand sliding from her hip to the floor. He slowly clenched his hand around the handle of the dagger, and in a quick movement, forced it down between her hands, cutting the cord. Rope he would not have had the strength to sever, but the cord was thin and gave way with a click as the blade hit the stone under it. He pushed the hilt into Elissa's hand, trusting that the fierceness he saw within her heralded more talent with a blade than he was capable of, and stood, feet shaking with the effort of moving so soon after ejaculation.

He launched himself at the guard, trapping him in the chair, and did not see Elissa throw the dagger, eyes never leaving Howe's.

The guard also did not see Elissa's sudden movement, attention completely fixated on the elf. He had been told, over and over that the elf was not to be damaged, and those instructions halted his usual response to beat the elf from him. His arms were trapped, and a knee was pressed firmly between his legs. Then he heard a gurgle from the Howe, and saw a splatter of blood.

Elissa was on her feet, and had tried to take Howe's sword, but quickly found the blade to be nothing more than a ornamental status symbol, so instead yanked the dagger from where it had buried into Howe's throat. She was driving the weapon into the nobleman's back, as he turned to run for the door, and, satisfied that he would not raise the alarm as he twitched and died, turned to where Zevran and the guard were tangled.

The guard was stronger than he, and knew better hold to fight, and Zevran was soon overpowered and his neck held in a vicelike grip. His vision hazed, and then cleared as the fingers clenched his windpipe loosened. He saw the guard slump, a dagger in his eye, and turned to see Elissa, bloodied and triumphant, standing before him. She collected the dagger again, and held it between them, eyeing the elf like a cornered animal.

Zevran let his eyes close, and half expected to feel a sharp stab of metal as Elissa claimed her revenge. He would not have blamed her if she chose to, but no bite of steel came. When he carefully half opened one eye, he saw the woman wrestling armour from the guard and strapping them to herself. She was focused on her task, and paid the elf in the room no heed until she had some semblance of protection covering herself. While left to stand there, mute and uncertain, Zevran gathered his trousers, and then, standing over Howe's limp body, spat at his former master. Once she was satisfied that the straps would hold for a while at least, she started to walk to the door, her footfalls heavy but sure. She turned then, and quirked her head in the direction of the exit.

"Come on then." she said, voice commanding. Zevran followed, the weight of servitude lifting from his shoulders, and the cold air beyond the door tasting like freedom.