Chapter 2: Cruel Masters
"You need to learn your place Apostate."
The utterance of these words was swiftly followed by a kick to the gut. The air emptied from Ander's lungs, which left him gulping for breath as his legs hit the floor beneath him in a loud thud. His arms nursed his abdomen as the now slightly older Anders nursed himself on the floor. He had yet another unsuccessful attempt of escape. This time he had nearly gotten half-way to Denerim. But no further. No matter how many times he endeavored to break free, they always found him. This time it was the woman templar, Rylock. If he hadn't known better he would have thought the woman was sweet on him. As of late she was always in the accompaniment of the mage-hunters whenever he'd managed to get off the circle grounds.
Perhaps he had been mistaken?
Another clash of metal-plated boot against his side confirmed this new line of reasoning. Another groan escaped him as he was sure she had just cracked a few of his ribs. With the slightest of movements there was agonizing pain shooting from the region of his side. Yes, they were indeed broken and would need to be mended immediately. Or perhaps this would finally be the end? For a moment Anders contemplated death as being a good option. At least he'd be out of his misery.
The clanking of metal foot-steps echoed around the damp stone walls around them. "That's enough. Fetch a healer and leave him here to reflect." The voice ordered out. It was the Knight-Commander himself. Anders attempted a snort as he sorely sat up on the dirtied floor and snuck a glance to find Greagoir glaring at him. But there was something else there. He was sure he knew that look. It was pity. He had received it enough from First-Enchanter Irving, he did not want it from a templar.
"You do not realize how lucky you are, mage. Irving insists that you are not a threat. If it had been just my decision I'd have you made tranquil."
That was more like it. Anders silently scoffed, but the fear of being made tranquil plagued that back of his mind. He had seen the tranquil mages near the stockroom. They did not even look to be alive with monotonous voices and blank, expressionless eyes that unnerved him greatly. Their connection to the fade had been severed with a lyrium brand and their dreams forever silenced. "…I'd rather you'd just cut me down." Anders muttered with downcast eyes. Besides, he passed his harrowing! Threatening tranquility was going too far.
"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. We do this to protect you, from yourself."
"And yet I wish to rule over nothing!" Anders screamed out, sick of the words he often heard. The blonde mage slumped down further onto the floor as he had only managed to hurt himself more. Before additional words could be uttered to further this growing argument there was the quiet footsteps and emergence of the First-Enchanter and a mage that Anders did not readily recognize. He stayed motionless with the glower enduring upon his features.
"My, all this excitement as of late. Greagoir, we can handle it from here." Irving chided the Knight-Commander who reluctantly muttered a complaint before giving a small angered scoff. "We'll talk, later." It was all Greagoir said before leaving the two mages to deal with the rabble-rouser of a mage.
For the time being Anders remained quiet as the mage beside Irving moved closer to him with a soft blue-green glow of her healing magic. He regarded a momentary look as his brows scrunched together and the frown did not soften. Where was Wynne? It was usually the kindly spirit healer they fetched to help. His gaze shifted away from the healer as she started to remove his robes to reveal an extensive show of brightly colored bruises, ranging from deep reds, blackest blue, and tinged green over lightly tanned skin. All and all it was not a very pretty sight.
The beginning of his healing session was of him being scolded by the First-Enchanter, but near the end Irving was kind enough to inform of the latest news of the tower. A Darkspawn horde, which seemed exceedingly incredible, threatened to the south of Ferelden and hence why Wynne and many of the other senior mages were absent from the tower all at one time and it also explained the neophyte healer.
Even Solona had departed with a Grey Warden prior that very morning! What in Andraste's tits was going on? For a moment Anders wondered if it was an extensive cover-up. The templars had merely gotten rid of all the good mages in one fell swoop. But that sounded far more paranoid than his usual thoughts and so the mage brushed them aside as the soothing fingers of the novice covered his temple.
Anders sighed out softly and permitted his bright amber eyes to shut peacefully as he focused on the nimble healing fingers working their magic. He vaguely listened further to what Irving was communicating to him, but in all honestly he was going in and out of consciousness the longer he sat upon the floor.
The next thing Anders remembered was the vision of the dim and ominous stone ceiling above. There was a coldness that clung to the air around him and an eerie quiet to the place. He would be experiencing solitary confinement for a full year. That was what Irving had spoken to him earlier in this cell. The only outsiders he'd see would be the fearsome faces of the templars. His entire body shook in the cramped cot. No mages, not even Irving would be permitted to visit. Not unless it was truly important, and there rarely was a cause for such things. Or perhaps a daring mage would come and visit. Most were gone, but Karl. That was enough to put Ander's at ease. Yes, as long as Karl was still within the tower he would have hope.
Teeth clattered raucously as Ander's gripped the moth-eaten rag of a blanket around his slender body. The entirety of his being ached from the earlier beating he had received from Rylock and the other templars. He knew by the end of the year he'd receive more brutal treatment, without a healer to aid him after. At least they had been so kind to leave the shackles off of him for this night. How lucky for him. Anders muttered against his chattering teeth and shifted to find the small embroidered pillow beneath his head. Irving had remembered. His expression softened for a moment before he grabbed the pillow and hugged it against his chest in a childish fashion and in that moment he cursed the existence of magic with all the pain it had caused him.
As the tears welled up in those distressed honey-colored eyes there was a small pitter-patter of feet that paused near the edge of Ander's cot. "Mreow?" A gentle sniffle escaped the blonde mage as glanced over the edge to find a fluffy gray cat below. It was Mr. Wiggums, the tower's mouser cat and for now it would be his only companion it seemed. His hand left the safety of his blanket and let his fingers gently stroke the soft gray fur on top of the cat's head, which earned a pleased purr in response.
"If only you were a ferocious wild-cat, Mr. Wiggums."
"That is quite the stud you have there, he must come from quality stock."
Magister Danarius and another lower-ranked magister were talking above a balcony as Fenris and another slave were sparring down below in an arena setting. It was a private arena that Danarius himself had set up to hold death matches of slave fighters. It was another endeavor to show off his prized-possession of the lyrium-infused elf he had been cultivated over the last couple of years.
"Indeed, he is. But the boy is still not quite at the level that I require in my slaves." Danarius chuckled in an almost wicked way as he held his hand up to gather the attention of the two slaves below. Fenris lowered the large two-handed sword in his grip while the other slave, a male human, lowered his own sword and shield to await further orders of the men above them.
"Fenris, kill him."
The human slave's mouth gaped at the order and glanced towards his sparring partner. A look of terror was forever etched onto his features as a clawed gauntlet phased right on through his chest and grasped the still beating organ into his hand, which was crushed immediately. Blood spewed between the lips of the human as the clawed hand was ripped out from the center of his chest and the dead slave crumpled onto the floor in a small puddle of his own blood. Fenris took little notice of his now blood soaked hand as he strapped the broadsword to his back and monotonously awaited further instructions from Danarius. The older magister could be seen and heard laughing at the display while the man beside him looked horrified and in awe at the same time. Yes, another little power display for Danarius to lord over the others.
Fenris could really care less. He was a slave and Magister Danarius was his master. Whatever it was that the man desired he would give, even if it meant his own pain and life. Since he had awoken that day he had not a single memory of his past life and hadn't once thought of it, not even now. What was the use of a slave to have such memories? They would prove to be nothing but a large problem, for both himself and Danarius.
As the two magisters disappeared from the top balcony Fenris moved away from the human corpse, allowing two other slaves to take care of the mess, and moved through the halls and found his way up the stairs to reunited by the side of his mage master. Along the way it was sure to grab a bottle of Agreggio Pavali. He was sure the man would want some after the show, he always did. As the elf reached the top floor and meeting room he found that the two magisters were sitting in plush chairs and chatting quietly with one another.
"Ah, good timing Fenris. Pour our friend Balthazar a drink." Danarius responded with a joyful gleam in his cold eyes. Yes, his master seemed to enjoy making others very uncomfortable. Fenris could see the other mage tense in his chair and a slightly frightened expression crossing his features, but were quickly hidden away with a small polite smile. The man should be scared, especially after the earlier display with the fellow slave he had so callously struck down with his rather unique abilities.
With a curt nod Fenris moved closer to the two magister with nimble movements, but his posture was just terrible. He was slouched to make him appear much smaller than he actually was. With the bottle of wine in hand he moved closer to the younger mage known as Balthazar and paused near his side, eyes kept averted as he had been instructed. The blood on his clawed gauntlet still lingered on the metal, beginning to dry and becoming tacky in texture. The young magister was sure to take notice as his goblet was being filled with wine. He seemed to shrink back further into the expensive velveteen chair. It was rather pathetic. Fenris then moved on to fill Danarius' goblet and kept quiet as the two continued to talk after the long moment of tense silence.
"As I was saying, I'll be taking a trip to Seheron to acquire an artifact from those barbarians…" Danarius had begun to say, but immediately cut himself off with a small hiss escaping him. Fenris nearly jumped at the displeased sound, knowing he had done something to displease his master. He hadn't averted his eyes properly again.
The magister's hand began to glow with magical power and the lyrium brand that covered his body began to glow brightly with that faint blue hue. A scream of agony escaped Fenris as he crumpled to the ground, the bottle of wine smashed to the floor alongside him with the shards embedded upon his bare arm and drew blood. The pain seared through to his mind and he feared to lose consciousness again. "F-forgive me…" the elf pleaded softly as he writhed upon the marbled floors. He had done something to displease his master, he must beg for forgiveness.
"Do not mistake yourself for an equal, slave. Now ask for it properly." Danarius all but hissed. Surely this man was more demon than human any longer.
Moss-colored eyes hazily sought out the figure of his master and whimpered out in further pain. "P-please….m-master…" Fenris somehow managed to choke out between the shocks of pain that coursed his wiry frame. Thankfully with this submission the glow of the lyrium seemed to die down and the pulses of pain subsided for the moment, leaving the tanned elf twitching and convulsing upon the floor.
"That's much better, my little wolf. Now come here."
The order had been issued and through the pain that lingered Fenris managed to pick himself up from the floor, at least his upper body, and crawled his way closer to Danarius. This seem to please the old magister all the more as his lips curled into twisted delight of having the elf crawl. The lecherous man patted his lap lightly to towards Fenris as his gaze focused back upon Balthazar with a throaty chuckle as he felt Fenris lay his face his lap in a submissive fashion.
"Yes, he still needs a little more handling before he's perfect."