DARKNESS AND DAWN

Anders was not bothered by his change in status. He was still with Fenris. That was all that mattered to him. The food situation bothered him. He didn't want Fenris to go hungry. Fenris refused to let Anders go hungry. So, they both half-starved. The occasional rat or cockroach added to their diet. Neither complained, neither shirked from stuffing the raw vermin into their mouths.

When Fenris was summoned to Danarius, he held Anders' leash, the mage walking several steps behind. They continued their synchronized movements, but Anders did not speak to Danarius. It was beneath any Master to speak to, or be spoken to by, the slave of a slave. If Master wanted Anders to do something, he commanded Fenris, who passed it on to Anders.

This was just as well. Anders now had difficulty interacting with people other than Fenris. Even other slaves passing by caused him to tuck his head tightly, and quake with anxiety. He wasn't able to adequately describe what the potion had done to him. He didn't like to talk about it, although he tried to share it with Fenris. By the time he'd been given the potion, Anders hadn't felt or heard Justice for years. He couldn't say what, if anything, had actually happened to the spirit. He only knew what he felt happening to himself. He described the experience only as "having his soul shredded."

Whatever it had done, his psyche was now unbearably tender. Loud noises, quick movements, unexpected touch... He startled, breath coming in pants. Fenris was his safe place. The elf could touch him, talk to him, hold him; their connection had not changed; except that Fenris was even more fiercely devoted to the protection of his mage. He learned to soothe Anders as soon as anxiety began to show in the twitching of his face. When Fenris spoke to him, he could see that Anders' mind was intact, his intelligence was unaffected. Anders was simply wounded, terribly wounded, and was slow to heal.

One day, Master took Fenris into the garden courtyard. He done this, occasionally, in the past. He instructed Fenris to tie Anders' leash to a nearby hitch, designed for just that purpose. He commanded Fenris to perform pleasuring acts on Master. It wasn't for the physical pleasure; Master's body no longer reacted to such stimulation. Fenris knew it was to impress upon himself that he was still Master's to command, in any way he chose. It was vile. Master was no longer bathing.

To his relief, Master stopped him, and pointed at Anders. A stray, limping cat had approached the mage as he knelt quietly, and crawled into his lap. Anders' eyes were alight. He didn't dare smile, or touch the cat, but his delight was obvious.

Master seemed to think it amusing. He told Fenris that his slave should be allowed to play with the creature if he wanted. What was the harm in two injured beasts romping?

Anders hesitantly lifted his hand to pet the creature, at Fenris' behest.

Master continued to allow this. Whenever he took them to the courtyard, Anders' eyes began to look for the limping cat. If it came to him, he pet it and held it to him. He spoke excitedly of it to Fenris in the privacy of their cell. He spoke of the cat's soft fur, the delicate paws, the velvety ears. The cat was a yellow tabby, like his cat in the Grey Wardens had been. He didn't remember that cat's name, anymore. It was so long ago.

Fenris was grateful the animal had come around. Anders was more animated than he'd been since the spirit potion had hurt him so badly. Anything that made Anders feel good was a blessing. He listened to him talk about the cat, with endless patience.

One day, as Fenris went through the act of pleasing Master in the courtyard, he darted a quick eye toward Anders, petting the cat on his lap. Suddenly, his ear was painfully twisted and he was jerked away from his task. Master's incensed face was in front of his.

"You will remember where your devotion lies, Slave," Master hissed. He flung a hand in Anders' direction. Fenris heard Anders gasp sharply, and Master turned the elf's alarmed face toward the kneeling mage.

Anders' arms held the cat, limp and lifeless. Anders himself was shaking, his face a mask of horror.

Master's voice murmured in Fenris' ear, foul hand stroking the elf's hair. "The cat was damaged, after all. It's a mercy to kill a damaged pet, so it need not suffer."

His meaning was clear. Anders was Fenris' damaged pet. One day, should Master desire, he might so easily be dispatched. Fenris watched as Anders gently lay the cat on the grass, biting back his emotions.

"Take your sick pet from my sight. I grow weary of his presence."

Fenris ran to Anders, untied his leash, and pulled his hand, running him from the courtyard.

The moment they were back in their cell, Anders broke into sobs. Fenris held him tightly, rocking him. There were no words to say. Fenris felt a finality in Master's cruel words and crueler act. There was no hope for either of them. It was merely a matter of time until Master took one away from the other, either by death... or, something worse.

His tears drying, Anders lifted his head and pressed his lips to Fenris' in a sweet, fervent kiss.

"Fenris, love me. Just once. Let us have that, before..." Before he was killed. Before they were torn from one another. Before starvation left them too weak to embrace.

So, Fenris loved him. Loved him with all that he had, all of his hope, all of his sorrow. They had acted-out sex, many times. Had participated in a farce of pleasure for others. This was beyond that. Their souls had been in communion for... an eternity. Expressing that physically, for comfort, for themselves, was no hardship. He found he needed the connection as much as Anders.

Fenris started with Anders' lips, and made slow, tender love to him. He worshipped Anders' body with a fervor their master had never, and would never, know. For the first time, Fenris felt his flesh rise without the impulse of a potion. He kissed every part of Anders, stroked every inch of his skin. He took his mage's rising flesh in his mouth with a gentleness and delight he'd never before given nor received. The sweetness of their pleasure was nearly more than he could bear. Neither could enter the other, didn't want the act they'd been compelled to perform in blood and fear.

They held tightly, melding into one another. Fenris cradled Anders between his quivering thighs as they slid their wanting flesh together. Rocking together, breathing together, they were transported. The cell, their collars, their misery, all disappeared as both strove to give the other a moment of joy. Anders' breath caught, his heart filled, and he whispered Fenris' name like a prayer, body spending in release. The sound of Anders' pleasure left Fenris undone. His own voice, rough with emotion, called to Anders as he spent between their cleaving bodies.

Hearts calming, breath slowing, they kissed the tears from each other's cheeks. They had this, this moment. It could not be taken from them.

Master seemed to have forgotten them. They were in the kennels for weeks, barely subsisting on the food provided to Fenris. They bathed when sent to the baths. They slept a great deal, weak from malnutrition. Fenris counted Anders' ribs when they held one another. He felt Anders doing the same with the knobs along his spine.

Then came a day, that Fenris was sent for. He put Anders' leash on the mage's collar, and they slowly made their way up the many stairs to kneel before their Master. Fenris glanced at Master, in the surreptitious way of slaves. His face was asymmetrical, one side hanging flaccid.

Master wanted to know why Fenris had a slave on a leash. He wanted to know what had happened to Fenris' armor.

While Fenris tried to formulate an answer to the bizarre questions, Master fell asleep. A house slave sitting in the corner rose and beckoned them out into the hall. Master became upset and paranoid if he awoke to someone in the room. She explained that Master had taken ill a few weeks ago. He refused see a healer. His mind was lost in the past.

They returned to their cell. Both knew their time would be short. If Danarius lived, they would slowly starve. If he died, the slaves would be divided with his estate. No other master would want them: a mismatched Matched Set, half-starved, scarred and tattooed to fit a madman's whim. Anders, particularly, with his psychological deficit, would be summarily euthanized. Fenris knew he would not survive it. Sin in the eyes of the Maker, or no, he would end his life when Anders was dead.

They were abandoned in their cell. No one came for them to bathe. No food was brought. They had been forgotten, or were being left to die on their own. Water was flushed through the lavatory holes daily, through a systemic cleanse. They were able to catch some of it with their hands.

They weakened, and lay in the curve of each other's body. They waited for the peace of death. By now, it was welcome.

Until.

The cell door swung open, and a man's voice called them to follow. They were led out, barely able to walk, and into the ballroom of the House. All the slaves of the House were there. Their names were taken and matched to a list that a clerical slave held. They were sent to kneel beside the wall, with the rest. Anders' strength gave out, and he listed to the side. Fenris supported him, held him against him.

Hours passed. No one told them what was happening. They shared glances, stroked hands, dared to press small kisses to each other's face. Both knew... it would not be long before they said final goodbyes.

Finally, guardsmen wearing an unfamiliar emblem on their uniforms entered the ballroom. They presented a writ to the men in charge. They were pointed in their direction. As the men approached, Fenris pulled Anders more tightly against him. They were too weak to resist or run. There was nothing to do but accept their fate.

One of the men examined the writ, again.

"Fenris! Anders!"

They fell forward in a bow, still embracing.

"Lord Pavus has acquired your sale. Come with us."

Fenris felt dizzy. They'd been sold. Who would want them? They were shackled, and when Anders couldn't walk, Fenris tried to carry him. He could barely lift his own arms with the shackles in place. The guardsmen carried him, with surprising gentleness. Fenris followed them to a cart in the driveway, and as soon as Anders was laid out on the bottom, Fenris lay against him.

He didn't know who Lord Pavus was, nor why he wanted them. He couldn't know their condition. No one who saw them now would want them. Was Master dead? He clung to one thought: wherever Anders went, be it to a new Master or to death, Fenris would follow.

The cart was driven over long roads, through countryside, through a village, and into the countryside again. Finally, they pulled into the drive of a huge villa. They were unloaded, and a slave led the group through hallways and rooms. The slaves in this house all wore tunics with their names embroidered on them. They smiled, and chatted together as they worked. He'd never seen such a thing.

They were brought to a room with cots and potions and medical supplies... a clinic? He hadn't seen a clinic since... since... had Anders worked in a clinic? Anders was laid on a cot, and Fenris followed, climbing up beside shackles and Anders' rough collar were removed. As soon as his arms were free, Fenris wrapped them about the mage. Anders' wide eyes met his. What was happening?

A woman-ethereal, gentle- spoke kindly to them. She told them that they were in the home of Dorian Pavus. Danarius was dead. Lord Pavus had acted quickly, as soon as he'd heard that they had been in Danarius' possession. He'd managed to assume ownership of Fenris and Anders, to have them brought here. She was going to heal them, help them regain their health and strength. They would not be harmed in this House.

Fenris listened carefully, the words doing nothing to set his mind at ease. Who was Master Dorian, and why had he worked so hard to acquire them? Why were they being treated so kindly? He watched the slaves assisting her. They didn't act like slaves. They acted like apprentices. They were at ease, and worked with her in a pleasant manner.

She was fussing over Anders, now. When he didn't answer her questions, she did not become angry, or have him punished. She simply posed the questions to Fenris, instead. She asked when they last ate and drank, if they had pain or injuries. The slaves assisting her were giving them small sips of water. She examined Anders' suppression collar, shaking her head, and left it in place. She then looked at Fenris' decorative collar, and snapped it off.

She cast healing magic over them, then, and Fenris felt a myriad of injuries heal. She said they would be bathed, and receive food.

They were taken from the clinic and into another room that looked like someone's private chamber. There was a bed, a table, and an attached bathing room. The slaves gently helped Fenris to remove his clothes, and get into the tub. The water was warm. When the slaves lowered Anders into the water, Fenris moved to take him in his arms, seeing his fear. Fenris was too weak to wash either of them, so the slaves washed them both, allowing them keep their arms about each other. They were both uneasy, it all felt surreal. They were in a master's bathtub, in a master's bedroom. Their eyes locked in trepidation.

By the time the slaves had finished washing and drying them, they were cleaner than they'd been in months. They smelled of scented soaps and shampoos. Their mops of hair were gently combed, and they were helped to clean their teeth. They were dressed in simple, cotton shifts, and taken into the bedroom. Fenris assumed they would be commanded to serve a master or mistress's body, having been so well groomed. He didn't know how they would manage it, in their condition.

Instead, their new mistress met them at the table, motioned to the chairs, and told them to eat. Once they were seated, they both were ready to drop onto their knees in an instant. What were they doing in chairs, at a table?

There were two bowls of porridge in front of them. Fenris ignored the spoons, slaves weren't allowed utensils. He lifted a bowl to Anders' lips, helped him eat. They both sipped at the porridge, one sip to Anders, one to Fenris, until the bowl was empty. Fenris wiped both their chins, licking his fingers clean. They lowered their eyes to the table, waiting for whatever came next.

Mistress was watching them with a sad expression. She didn't speak, so they stayed as they were, beginning to shake with exhaustion. She finally said they should sleep, that she would bring more food, in a few hours. She gestured to the bed, and Fenris blinked in surprise. They would sleep in a bed? Fenris was somewhat stronger, now, revived by the food. He was able to help Anders to the bed on his own. When they crawled into it, Mistress herself pulled up the covers, scaring the daylights out of them-was she going to punish them for getting on the bed? She didn't. She simply took in the way he and Anders held onto one another, and sighed.

She said, "I know who you are... who you were. Varric has looked for you ever since you left Kirkwall. You're safe now. I promise you that. We will take care of you." She left.

They were alone but for two slave servants who knelt by the door.

Fenris held Anders, and smelled the scent of the shampoo they'd used. He buried his face in the soft, burnished-gold hair of his mage.

"Anders... my Anders."

The man in his arms nuzzled against him, exhausted.

They slept, too tired to think more on what would happen next.

tbc...