Oookay, guys! Sorry for the late update! School, ya know, blech.

Anyway! Just so you know, all of these little stories take place during different times of Fenris's slavery. One may be a week before he escaped, the next the day after the ritual. I'll try to give you the approximate year, but as we don't know how long Fenris remained in slavery, it's kind of a wild guess. In my mind, Leto became Fenris at around age 18, and remained Danarius's slave until somewhere around his 24th birthday. That'd be about 6 years Fenris was enslaved, including his time with the Fog Warriors, and putting Fenris at age 27 at the beginning of the game, and 37 endgame. Ten years, sheesh.

This bit takes place at year 3 in Kirkwall and the memory near the end of Fenris's enslavement; I think that Fenris, despite him saying that slaves are mindless, began to see what was becoming of him near the end. That's why he stayed with the Fog Warriors rather than immediately catching the next boat after Danarius.

There's also some Hadriana in this one. She's all about our dear little Fenris, and her attentions are far from wanted….

Fenris lay in his bed, rubbing his knuckles. The skin was soft, supple, only becoming rough where the lyrium glided over it. The fireplace burned in the corner of the room, warming over him and reflecting golden in his eyes and across his blanket.

Gold. The elf turned over, the sheets slipping over him as easily as silk, to watch the fire dance. A hand came up to rest under his cheek, and he could almost feel the throbbing there. Memories took him, as they usually did when he was alone, at night. He longed for Hawke to walk into the room, to distract him before the thoughts came, but it was too late for her to come wandering unless there was a major emergency.

And so into his thoughts he fell.

"Fenris!"

Starting, the elf tumbled into the room, eyes on the ground. "Yes, master?" he murmured, the cold stone of the mansion's floor scraping against his feet. Everything about the world seemed oddly cold now – there was no warmth, nothing compared to the fire he had felt. The lyrium felt like a constant chill, like metal in a cold winter's day that had been implanted into him.

He longed to feel the warmth of a hug again, but he could not remember anyone who'd ever hugged him before. It was strange, knowing how something felt and yet not remembering the experience.

Fenris bent onto his knee and kept his eyes on the ground, waiting for his master to speak.

Danarius rose, arrogance coming from him in waves, and approached the slave. Fenris scowled at the ground, not anticipating the caress his owner swept over his ear as he swept about in a circle. He fought down a shudder and kept his face averted.

"My friends need some wine. Get the Aggregio and bring it to us immediately. You will serve us."

Not so bad. Fenris repeated himself, "Yes, master." He was rising when Danarius pressed a hand down onto his back, forcing him back down. Then the old man's lips brushed by his ear. Fenris fought from flinching away. He would never be comfortable with the forced intimacy.

"I want you to return in nothing but your small clothes. My friends wish to see your markings."

Bad. Shamefully, he again said nothing but "Yes, master" and rose when Danarius released him. Fenris briefly lifted his head to glare at the group of mages circling Danarius's dinner table. They were all female. Typical. Each pair of batting eyes was on him, scorching over the ridiculous outfit he wore.

He was clad in red silk. It was kimono-like, wrapping around him much like a dress, and stopping at his knees. There were no sleeves. A black belt pinched at his waist. Fenris was both displeased at having to be exposed in front of the women and glad to be rid of the garment.

He swept from the room. Danarius did not mind much when he stomped from a place, because Fenris was a bodyguard and was meant to intimidate – even though his master used him for more than just protection. In fact, Fenris was actually encouraged to be scary towards house guests. It was a matter of balance, of being both intimidating and at the same time not insulting. Danarius punished him when he insulted anyone.

His cheek throbbed as he pulled the Aggregio from its place in the cellar. He set the bottle down and sighed before grabbing another. Danarius would want to get the ladies upstairs drunk. At least it wasn't him his master was trying to bed tonight.

He was untying his belt slowly, trying to linger away from his master as long as possible, when a voice he'd grown to hate called from the corner.

"Fenny. Are you stripping?"

Immediately a scowl passed over his features, and he fought to pull it off as he continued undressing. "Yes," he said, putting as much malice in his voice as he could get away with.

Hadriana giggled, skipping up from behind one of the cabinets of wine and inspecting him. Fenris deliberately slowed, hoping she'd lose interest if he took too long.

No such luck.

"What does he have you wearing?" She tugged at one of the shoulders of the garment, causing it to slip from his body and fall halfway down his arm. He shot her a scowl and didn't answer as she giggled once more.

Hadriana's fascination with him had never been charming. It was altogether irritating, her constant teasing and flirting, and then horrible want for revenge when he turned her down. Fenris felt as if he were trapped between Danarius and Hadriana, both of them wanting him in bed just to toy with him and use him, neither of them letting up. Privately, he sometimes wondered if they had a bet going on to see who could be the first to force him into giving up his body. Fenris was utterly disgusted by it, still holding strong to the fact he was to sleep only with someone he loved, even if it meant never sleeping with anyone at all. He could not remember who had told him that, but he knew it was important, somehow. That particular sentiment seemed not to matter to both the magister and his apprentice.

Now Hadriana was playing, tugging at his clothes. "I can help," she said, her hands baby-soft from lack of work, trailing down his spine. She flashed him a teasing look. He moved around and away from her, trying to make way up the stairs, swooping down to snatch the wine bottles on his way out.

But she wasn't finished with him. "You're not undressed, Fenny!" She grabbed at his shoulders, tugging him from one of the stairs and causing him to stumble back into her. She giggled in delight.

"I don't need your help, Mistress Hadriana," he snapped, yanking away from her and hating how he had still, instinctively, let 'mistress' slip from his tongue. His markings pulsed on him, glowing faintly white, and he fought for control. Quickly he proceeded up the stairs.

He felt her eyes on him as he retreated, the want for vengeance already coming from her in waves. "I'm sure I'll have another chance to undress you, slave," she snarled at his back, though amazingly still seeming to try to seduce him back to her. He turned to shoot her a look of distaste and escaped.

Pushing the matter to the back of his mind, he rose to the hallway and stripped quickly. Danarius was surely going to punish him later for his inefficiency, and Fenris would not argue, because slaves did not argue, and his master would not believe him anyway.

Hurrying down the hall with a scowl, he quickly pushed against the doorframe and showed himself to Danarius, a wine bottle in each hand. Danarius's eyes lit up in satisfaction and he watched the slave enter the room with a prideful greediness on his face. Fenris met his eyes deadly, and approached the table with the quiet anger he could not show. He dropped the wine on the table ungracefully, and for a moment his master's eyes flashed in fierce rage.

Fenris quickly righted the bottles and inwardly cringed, not looking at his master until he felt the rage leave the man. His lyrium had given him a good reading into people's emotions – he knew when he'd overstepped a line. He just had, and could sense the warning – he'd either make up for it now or later.

The elf decided now was the better option.

With as much dignity as he could manage, he poured the wine into the set glasses and met eyes with each woman as he did so. They each scorched him with their gazes, and he could feel the appreciation coming from them.

What he could feel even more strongly was their fear.

Even in his smallclothes, his appearance frightened.

He scowled, and Danarius took the glass from the table. "I've imbued him with lyrium," he told the girls, whom all turned wide eyes to look at the magister. Fenris backed up, knowing that he was supposed to put on a show, but instead merely standing up a bit taller. He would pay for it later, but dammit, the part that clung to something strange within him… didn't want to. He did not know what this was, inside him, telling him to defy, but it was small. It was weak, but stubborn, and Fenris felt the urge to nurture it, because whenever the emotion rose in him, he felt as if he would perhaps leave this place someday. An absurd notion – Danarius had gone to much too much trouble to sell him or release him – but that part in his soul told him to never stop hoping.

Fenris quickly quashed the feeling as his master stared at him darkly. He was a slave. An elf. Marked beyond anything anyone else had. He would never be able to blend in anywhere. What hope did he have?

Though his body told him to spin and show the markings to the fullest, the thing pounding in his chest ached at the thought. Fenris fought within himself, before his heart won out, and the elf stiffened, staring his master in the eyes.

He would pay, he knew.

The women still stared in fear and in awe at him. He let his stance turn menacing as he turned to them, letting the inner hatred release from him for a moment. He saw them each shrink back, sensing it, seeing it in his eyes, no doubt. They knew how much he hated his life.

Then, one of the women spoke, her voice a suggestive purr. "Is he marked everywhere?" All three of the women tittered girlishly, pushing against the speaker and casting lustful eyes over at the elf.

Fenris let the hatred pour from him now, the dam to his feelings beginning to shift as the torrent of rage pounded at the walls behind his eyes. The woman silenced, her lips thinning and face paling.

Danarius swayed in his chair and shot Fenris a cocky smile. "Would you like to show them, little wolf?"

It was not a question. His heart thudded and the elf spat out something he was not expecting. "Not particularly."

Danarius rose from his chair in an instant and Fenris realized what he'd said. His master swept across the room to him, and then Fenris was on the ground, his cheek throbbing and head swimming from colliding with the ground. His master stood over him, rage pouring from his blue eyes, and Fenris shrank away from him, pressing against the opposing wall.

"I'm sorry, master," he sputtered, and the small piece of his heart roared in outrage at his submissiveness. He silenced it as Danarius loomed, fists crackling with magic.

"Get out," Danarius growled.

Oddly both thankful and terrified, Fenris fled. He ran through the mansion, slipping past magisters related to his master and other slaves, before tumbling into the slaves' quarters and ripping open his chest of clothes.

The only respectable items were his armor pieces. He scowled, pushing past them to a simple black tunic and sage green leggings. Both were colored with intricate gold markings and Danarius's initials, but at least they weren't the red dress he'd been forced to wear before. He tugged them on, shuddering and trying not to whimper. His cheek blazed; magic, of course. Danarius must have cast a spell on his hand to make the slap ache afterwards. Fenris remained silent, though he wanted to release the pain with a cry, and he crawled over to the corner of the room. None of the other slaves were in the quarters – all busy making Danarius's food or clothes or tending to his horses or some other nonsense. Fenris eyed the fireplace in the room, watching the flames dance.

His heart beat calmly within him. Though his body was in pain, his insides were content. Something told him he had done something right today, had stood up for himself.

Yes, he thought dryly, because that worked out so well. No telling what more punishment I will get once the women leave.

Still, he felt a small sense of pride in him. His brain told him this was dangerous and stupid, and he'd better never do that again, or Danarius might get those extra markings after all. Fenris shuddered at the thought.

But his heart, and perhaps something deeper, something he could not recall the name of but seemed to truly be the essence of a person… soul. His soul. His heart, his soul… they told him that there would be pain for this, but that if he were truly a man, he would take it. It is better to endure pain as a man than to cower in the shadows like a rat only to avoid hurt, they told him quietly. Fenris frowned, burying his face in his hands.

No, he thought quietly, fighting back, there is nothing for me. It is foolish to take pain when you do not have to.

Is it? whispered the voice, Are you such a man that you would allow yourself to be treated like dirt? That you would be kicked like a dog and then return for more?

Fenris sighed, pushing the thoughts away and only looking down at his hands, at the lyrium burned into them. They pulsed gently.

I am dirt, he thought angrily, I am a slave, not to mention a deformed one that is seeming to lose his very ability to obey. No one and nothing will change that. Certainly not fighting back.

His heart seemed to sigh, and quieted. Fenris was exasperated with himself. Here he was, arguing with himself about something that was a distant dream, a star, a million miles away and untouchable. Maybe it was not just his ability to obey he was losing.

With a sigh, Fenris fell back onto the hay Danarius had provided for a bed.

And still, as his cheek throbbed and head pounded with pain, he did not realize the change that had slowly begun to slip over him.

This was the first time he had ever defied his master.

It would not be the last.

Fenris sighed, blinking away from his thoughts. I was such a fool, he thought darkly, so blind. He rolled over in his bed, and imagined he could smell Danarius on the pillowcase. With a scowl, he chucked the pillow from the bed. It flew directly onto the table and knocked over a bottle of wine.

He liked the sound of it shattering.

I am not sleeping tonight anyway, he thought, rising from his bed. He eyed the pillow with a small, dark smile passing over his face.

When Hawke came over the next morning, she was greeted with a sleeping elf wrapped in a blanket on the floor, a small smirk on his face, surrounded by shreds of fabric and feathers, paintings knocked from the walls, clothes strewn about and torn, and broken glass.

Fenris roused when she walked in, but didn't leave the blanket – he'd expected her arrival the previous night and had covered up – he was scantily clad {ripping the clothes off his own body had been strangely satisfying, like tearing away chains} and didn't want her to see him nearly naked.

Hawke gave him a confused look, one eyebrow in her hairline.

He only smiled back. "Good morning, Hawke," he said sleepily.

She stayed poised for only a moment more before realizing he was not going to tell her what had happened. With that, she turned away from him and strutted towards the door. "Was gonna ask you to come with me to the Deep Roads, but if this is how you wake up every morning, I think I'll take Anders instead."

He caught the teasing tone, but still replied seriously, "You are taking me. That mage couldn't win a fight against an army of pacifist Chantry sisters."

She cast him a short smirk over her shoulder before leaving with only a short, "Get dressed. We're going to meet Bartrand. I swear, though, if I wake up and my tent is destroyed, you'll be the one I blame."

Fenris could only chuckle. "I'll try my best to keep my nightmares contained."

She shot him a concerned look, but he waved her off.

At least during this trip, there will be plenty of distractions. And hopefully no fireplaces. He shot his own a dark look before rising and getting dressed.