~*Truth*~

"Okay, okay, so how does it start?"

"I figured I'd start working from a more interesting angle."

"And by 'interesting', you mean as far away from the original story as possible?"

"You always did get my style, elf boy."

Shivering, Hawke covered up as much of her body as she could with the tiny little blanket her captors have given her. Even for a youngling such as her, it was barely big enough to drape over her shoulders. Packed away in a tight cargo box, the scent of fish and greed hung thick in the air. When someone cracked open her crate, she didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified.

Some strange man, saying something in a language she didn't know, reached down and pulled her out by her hair roots. She cried out, more from shock then real pain, and was violently shushed. Other children like her were being taken out of their storage, some much more forceful then her.

"To'ay's the big day, girly," the strange man guttered, his grip no looser on her hair. "Try and not to whine so much; buyers hate that."

"You're making me a slave?"

"I'm not making you a slave. I'm merely interpreting your travels to Kirkwall. It surely sounded like a gruesome trip."

"Somehow I can't imagine Hawke as a slave, actually taking orders from someone."

"Quiet, Fenris!"

The auction seemed to last hours, and the stage was slowly becoming emptier, until it was only her and another boy, an elf with jet black hair, on the stage. When the slaver finally hovered over her, calling out her starting price, she was bought and paid for over seventy-five sovereigns. The buyer was a middle-aged woman with an odd twist to her smile.

The chain to her shackles was given directly to the buyer, a precaution should she decide to escape, along with a key. Unlike the other masters, the woman freed her from her iron clad handcuffs. "You are now my property, and I upkeep things that belong to me." Hawke merely nodded, remembering to never speak in the presence of another person. Slaves are meant to be seen, not heard, said the salver-lord.

As she and her new master walked out of the dark tunnel that held the auction, she blithely listened to the final auction of the day, the small elf boy. When he was finally auctioned away, to someone with a name she couldn't catch, she cringed, and sent up a quick prayer for the elf boy.

"Wow. Did you talk this over with Isabela?"

"Nope, came up with everything on my own. Genius, huh?"

"So says you. I always thought Fenris was born into slavery. You were born into it, weren't you?"

"You're asking me?"

"Oh, right…sorry."

The woman who had bought her, a nobleman named Hadriana, always seemed to be forgetting her name. Instead of Hawke, it was always pet. After many a year being called 'girly' by the slavers, it was actually nice. Hadriana did as she said, and polished Hawke like a diamond. She fed her delicious food, had her sleep in the warmest of beds, and would be made to wear the prettiest of dresses.

Though the conditions were improved, Hawke felt blank, and dull. Every time her mistress threw together a party, Hawke would have her hair tied up so tight tears would leak from her eyes, and have to wear shoes that had heels longer then her wrist. It was almost has if she was a doll, something she realized, but didn't say anything about. Usually, once the party was over, she would go to bed without dinner.

It wasn't until years later that the beating starting.

"Of course, there's always some poor girl being physically abused in these stories."

"I'm just trying to keep it realistic. From what I heard Hadriana wasn't the sweetest of peoples, was she?"

"No, she wasn't."

"I still don't appreciate my story-self being beaten!"

"You'll get over it."

"Shut up, elf boy."

When Hawke began showing signs of magical abilities on the eve of her fifteenth birthday, Hadriana began to change. No longer was Hawke her doll to dress up and show off, but her trophy to buff and shine. The training was bone-ripping, and it more than once left the newly appointed apprentice crumbling in defeat onto her bed. She would reflect back onto her days as a product in the black market.

It may have been a miserable existence, but it wasn't too terrible. The eldest slave, a girl of seventeen years, was almost an older sister to her. Unlike Hadriana, she actually cared for the young girl. One day, though, her friend had vanished from the cargo crates. Even though she was only eight at the time, Hawke was well aware of the slavers policy. Anyone over eighteen years old was killed. It made her sad to think about the fate of her friend, but it was cheering to know that at some point someone actually cared about her.

There was another. That tiny elf boy from the stage. Not really a friend, so much as a charge. Hawke had taken him under her wing when he first arrived, the skinniest and most sickly of all the other boys and girls in that set. She also had a real soft spot for elves. Every night, when the slavers gave them tiny bits of fruit, she would sneak over and give him all her apples.

It was a miserable existence, but back then, she enjoyed it when someone gave a damn about her as a person. And right now, she was sorely missing those days.

"Oh, so that's why you like apples."

"Now I'm suddenly ill-equip to take care of myself. Is that it, dwarf?"

"Only trying to get you some sympathy points, here."

"Yeah, no one will be as forgiving by your attitude as I was. After all, they won't know how pretty you were."

"…fantastic…"

A grown woman of twenty years, Hawke had well aware of the escape of the prized slave of Danarius. All of the slaves have heard about it, if not half of the Imperium. The Magisters were terrible at keeping secrets.

Hawke remembered seeing Fenris from time to time on her travels with Hadriana. A small boy, she thought to herself, too complaisant. She didn't register the tattoos much, not seeing how they were worth anyone's time. When she had heard about his escape, she was enraged. It had long since passed the point where she had begun to try and escape the clutches of her master. To learn that the favored pet of Danarius, an object of jealousy to many of the slaves in the Imperium, it set her teeth on edge.

It was during one fateful day when Hawke was silently waiting in the field behind her masters' mansion, as she always was. Her mistress came forth, without warning, and said to her, "I have an assignment for you." There was an odd twist to her smile. Hawke's lips parted.

Catch the escaped slave, she had said. Hawke needn't wonder who she was talking about. Catch him, and I will free you from your prison, she explained. Hawke needn't wonder what she had meant.

All she needed to know was that she had discovered a way to dispatch one of those most despised men to the slaves, and a way to retrieve her fantasized freedom.

"So now she's my personal hunter? She wouldn't do that."

"Are you kidding me? I'd kill you out for a Klondike bar."

"Shut up, Hawke."

Years passed without any sign of the escaped slave. Hawke had free reign to do whatever she wished, to sleep wherever she wanted, all on the coin Hadriana had given her. Her objective never faded from her mind. The leash was still tight around her throat. She spent all of her energy tracking him down.

When she finally found a lead, her heart nearly busted opened in excitement.

It was during a cold, wintery night in the Free Marches. After years of hiding in the shadows she had grown a natural affinity for staying unnoticed. Even her skin had grown deathly pale, and her eyes seemed to glow in the black of night. It helped to spot a white head of hair in the darkness of Kirkwall Lowtown.

So enthralled to find her target after years of searching, she didn't notice it when she walked right into his trap.

Silently stalking him on the edges of the shadows, she licked her lips when he took an abrupt turn into an ally. What a fool, she thought to herself as she followed after.

When she reached the end of the alleyway, he wasn't there.

She blinked.

In a flash of light, Hawke suddenly founded herself thrown against the brick wall, and facing her target. One hand was nearly choking her, while the other was quite literally inside her chest. Her heart felt constricted as she gazed in fear at the hardened elf slave before her.

"Oh, how romantic!"

"I find my story-self about to kill you in cold-blood very poetic, as well."

"Quiet, you. It's just that now you can't at all remember me taking care of you as a small kid in the slave compound because of the memory wipe. I think it's very lyrical."

"Thanks Hawke, I spun that in just for you."

"I often make a point not to kill women or children," the slave said, his eye burning bright. "And now I'm about to break both of my rules." Hawke bristled.

"I'm hardly a child," she hissed. "I've seen and been through more than most of the bloody men in the Free Marches."

"With the way you were blundering after me, I'd say otherwise."

"Don't flatter yourself."

His ghostly hand seemed to clench tighter around her heart. "Who sent you?" he asked.

"My mistress promised me freedom as long as I capture you," Hawke spat. Without warning, the slave backtracked and withdrew his hand from her chest. She crumbled to the ground, trembling in fright and revulsion.

"You're a slave," he said, looking down at her. He looked disgusted.

"Slave…apprentice…doll," she murmured, rising to her feet. She patted away the dust from her person. "I don't care what you call me. All I know is that all those titles, all those brand marks go away when you're safely back in Danarius' lap. And trust me when I say I'd give up a lot more than you for that to happen."

The slave remained quiet, seeming to survey her with his glittering eyes. Then he let out a cruel laugh. "You honestly think she'd let you go away scot free?" Hawke blinked, lips parted. "If anything she would have promised to give you to Danarius as a present. With my capture, you'd just be walking into another prison."

"You don't know who she is," Hawke snapped, voice quavering.

"Oh, I know," he said stoically. "I know who she is. And I know who you are, Hawke. A mage, a slave, a Ferelden, all that. I also know that your mistress is perhaps one of the cruelest slave lords in all of the Imperium. I highly doubt she would change that for you."

Hawke opened her mouth to spit venom at him, when she realized she had nothing to say. Her mind was blank.

"I won't kill you," he said, already walking away from her. "I owe you that much. Just know I won't be so forgiving next time." He was already a shadow in the distance.

"Wait!" she cried out, her heart pounding in fear. "W—what do…I do now?"

He looked back over to her defeated form, and seemed to be smiling.

"Just start running."

"I think this version of events better than me just stumbling along an empty box. It's a lot more fun."

"I like how in each version, you always seem to fall for my traps."

"Don't get any ideas, elf boy. So Varric, I was wondering, can we change it up just a little bit? Instead of him just catching me, can there be this huge fight?"

"I don't see why not."

"You're both insane."

~*O*~

Apologies this is so late, but I was absolutely stumped on what to do with this word. Trust me, you'll be glad I actually slept last night and came up with this idea in the morning. Much better than my last one.

Well, expect the final chapter later tonight. I can't wait till this is over, honestly, I've never been met with a more convoluted plot then this god-awful 'collection' thing. Just imagine what it'll be like when I have more than six hours o think up a plot! :D

See you in a couple hours, sweet spirits~

~DM-sama