FIC: The Truth is Plain to See 2/? (Fenris/Julian Hawke, DA2 AU, M)

[darkrose]

Title: The Truth is Plain to See (2/?)
Author: darkrose
Fandom: Dragon Age
Character/Pairings:Fenris/M!Hawke
Length: ~3,670 words
Rating: M
Disclaimer: The characters and settings used in this story are the property of Bioware. No profit is being made from their use.
Warning: Standard warnings apply.

Contains: Slavery, dubious consent, Dom/sub, pain play, piercing, humiliation, breath play, blood play...look, it's me, okay?

Notes: From a Dragon Age II Kink Meme prompt requesting an AU where the elves defeated the Tevinters and enslaved humans. Some canon details have been changed; for example, the children of humans and elves appear mostly elven instead of entirely human. Many, many thanks to Bellaknoti and Katiebour, whose work on deconstructing the elven language has been invaluable.

Summary: Hawke knows that there are worse things than slavery, especially if you're a human and a mage.



Hawke's ear still hurt. The elven mage who could invade dreams had offered to heal it, although he'd admitted sheepishly that he wasn't much of a healer. Hawke wasn't either. Just knowing that he could, however, was worth the slight burn that always seemed to be a side effect of his healing spells. Having his magic restored made him almost giddy--at least it did until his new master demonstrated what would happen if he attempted to turn his magic against him. The elf--Fenris, he reminded himself--grabbed his wrist and somehow sucked the mana out of him, sending him to his knees.

Danarius had done that sometimes, though he preferred using Hawke's blood rather than his mana. He'd always get the same heavy-lidded look of pleasure that Fenris had; the difference was that Hawke would have been perfectly content to stay on his knees for his new master. Just thinking about it made almost as hard as he'd been when it first happened. He slid down into the cooling bath water, trying to will his erection to go down.

He touched the piercing again, a wide band of silver that had been driven into the cartilage of his upper ear, with a black gem that was magically attuned to both him and to Fenris. Short of cutting off a chunk of his ear it couldn't be removed, and even if he somehow managed, Fenris would know the instant he did. Hawke suspected his master wouldn't be inclined to be merciful a second time.

There was a certain amount of irony in his current predicament. For over twenty years, he'd managed to avoid the Emerald Guard and stay free, only to end up first as virtual slave to a blood mage and now as an actual slave to one of the Wolf-Kin, the spirit warriors who'd rendered the Tevinter Imperium little more than a fading memory. Except to someone like Danarius. Anders would no doubt rail at the injustice of it all, but aside from feeling vaguely ashamed for once again failing to live up to his father's example, Hawke couldn't bring himself to be all that upset about the whole thing; he'd never expected to survive Danarius's rebellion, so this felt like a win.

Especially since his new master was quite possibly the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen.

It wasn't just the way his tattoos encircled his arms like vines, silver against golden skin until they glowed blue. And it wasn't just the leaf-green eyes, or the white hair that Hawke badly wanted to run his fingers through to see if it was as soft as it looked. Once, his father had taken him out into an open field during a thunderstorm in order to teach him how to call and channel lightning. Hawke had never forgotten the exhilaration of grasping power in its rawest form, knowing that one slight slip could mean death. Touching Fenris would be like playing with lightning.

Hawke let one hand drift down to his crotch and stroked himself lightly, imagining himself taking his master's cock into his mouth--did he have those markings there too?--and licking and sucking him until the lyrium flared brilliant blue. It had been a long time since he'd done this purely for his own pleasure, and even longer since he'd touched himself to mental images of someone he actually wanted.

A sharp rap on the door of the baths nearly made him jump out of his skin, and he heard the elven woman who'd introduced herself as the Residence steward, "You can't stay in there all day--hurry up!'

"I'll be right there, sha'len!" Hawke called. He scrambled out of the tub, pulled on the clothes he'd been given earlier and ran his hands through his damp hair in a vain attempt to put in in a semblance of order before opening the door.

His master was able to reach into someone's chest and crush his heart. Hawke didn't find him nearly as terrifying as this ordinary-looking elf who barely came up to his chest. She looked him up and down and snorted, clearly unimpressed.

"Hopefully the Aman will give me a better idea of what he wants you to wear, but I suppose this will have to do for now. Cullen!" A tall human man with curly red hair and a neatly-trimmed goatee stepped forward.

The steward nodded at Hawke. "This one's just been...acquired by the new Sha'len. Show him around and make sure he knows the important basics."

Cullen bowed his head, a large tree bending down to converse with a sapling. "Of course, Mistress Orana." Once she'd bustled off, he looked up and smiled at Hawke.

"Hello, nice to--well." His smile vanished. "I guess I shouldn't say that it's nice to meet you, under the circumstances."

"Probably not, but it's alright." Hawke extended his hand; Cullen shook it. "I'm Hawke."

"This way...." Cullen led him down the back stairs to the ground floor. "The inside hasn't changed much from when the Tevinters ruled, which is why we get the water piped in. The guard barracks are over there, through that door. The guards don't usually give us trouble--Captain Lia doesn't have a lot of tolerance for that sort of thing--but I don't know about the warband." He gave Hawke a sidelong look. "Though I doubt you'll have to worry about it. Mistress Orana said that the new Sha'len is Wolf-Kin?"

"Yes," Hawke said, and Cullen shivered.

"I'm sorry. I hope...well, maybe he won't be too harsh." Quickly he changed the subject. "I apologize if it seems like I'm prying, but are you--"

"I'm only part Rivaini," Hawke told him. And unfortunately, it's not a big enough part. It was rare to see someone with round ears and skin the color of Hawke's who didn't have elaborate facial tattoos and piercings. He'd asked his father once why they couldn't just get the tattoos and pretend, since most of the family was dark enough.

"What about your mother? She couldn't pass. Besides, the Rivaini are very aware of their privilege as humans allowed to live without elven oversight, and they guard it carefully. No real Rivaini tattoo artist would do clan tattoos for anyone outside of their borders. Even if we could find someone to do so, the first time a Rivaini asked specific questions about our clan, we'd be blown--assuming that the tattoo artist wasn't involved in a scheme to scoop up fools and sell them into slavery."

Malcolm Hawke had paused, idly rolling a tiny ball of light over his fingers. "I'm sorry, Julian. I don't know why my grandmother came south, but she did, and there's no point wishing otherwise. We are who we are."

Cullen looked startled. "How'd you know I was going to ask that?"

Hawke gave him a tiny smile. "Everyone does."

Cullen stopped in front of an open door. "These are the old slave quarters. Mistress Orana's rooms are in the back. Bran--he's the cook--and Saemus and I sleep out here."

"There are more slaves, though, right?"

"Oh yes..." Cullen turned a shade of pink that clashed badly with his hair. "The others stay in their masters' rooms. You've...um...I know everything thinks there's only one reason the elves have slaves, but that's not always...Bran's here because he's a very good cook, Saemus is fast and can run messages all over town, and I...well." He smiled, a bit crookedly. "I carry heavy stuff and get things off high shelves for Mistress Orana."

Hawke badly wanted to know how someone like Cullen had ended up as a slave; he certainly didn't seem like the type to be stirring up sedition. He doubted that it was appropriate to ask, though, so he kept quiet.

"These are Master Zevran's rooms," Cullen said, indicating another non-descript door. He gave Hawke a long look. "Master Zevran is the head of the Ravens in Kirkwall. I assume I don't need to tell you to be careful, even if your master is the Sha'len."

Hawke shook his head. The Emerald Guard were dangerous, but they were also easy to spot. The Ravens moved in the shadows, and by the time you realized they were watching you, it was far too late to run. Even Danarius had been wary of them, moving from one bolthole to another the moment he heard whispers that the Ravens were asking questions in the area.

Cullen led them back up the main stairs. "Mistress Athenril--she's the Senechal--has her rooms on that side." His tone was carefully neutral. "Be careful around her; she can be a bit, ah, handsy sometimes. The Sha'len's audience chamber is behind those double doors there with with the guards in front. And finally..." He stopped in front of a door marked with the tree crest of Arlathan. "The Sha'len's suite."

Peering around the corner, Hawke saw a smallish room that was set up as an office and a bedroom that looked like it was almost as large as his family's old house. A dark-haired human boy of no more than sixteen was changing the linens on the massive four-poster bed.

"Saemus, this is Hawke," Cullen said, "He belongs to the new Sha'len."

Saemus nodded. "Hello," he mumbled, so quietly that Hawke could barely hear him.

"Come down to dinner when you're done up here," Cullen instructed. "We'll make sure to save something for you. Oh, and Saemus? Make sure you get..." Cullen pointed at the bed, and Hawke's eyes widened when he saw the soft rope tied to the bedposts. Saemus turned bright red and quickly went to work removing the rope. Cullen touched Hawke's arm and steered him out of the bedroom.

"So...." Hawke began, but Cullen cut him off.

"Not here. Come on. We're finished up here, anyway."

Once they reached the ground floor Cullen ducked into the slave quarters, pulling Hawke with him. "Look," he said after closing the door. "I don't know if you've been in Kirkwall long, but it's pretty public knowledge that Sha'len Orsino wasn't that effective. Meredith--his slave--is--was--pretty...um...assertive, I guess you'd say. Some people even said she told him what to do."

Both of Hawke's eyebrows went up. "That would explain the ropes, I suppose."

Cullen blushed. "Yes. Meredith could be a little dictatorial. I didn't mind her too much, but not all of us felt that way. She didn't deserve to die like that." He touched two fingers to his forehead, lips, and chest.

"What happened to her?"

"Weren't you there? The Wolf-Kin commander ran her through."

"Your mistress wasn't exaggerating when she said I was new," Hawke explained. "He...acquired me a couple of hours ago." Before Cullen could ask for details, Hawke changed the subject. "You're an Andrastean?"

"Yes. I mean, I'm not as devout as Sebastian--he wanted to become a Chantry brother--but I try to follow the Path." He paused, clearly waiting for Hawke to say the same.

The only religious sentiment Malcolm Hawke had ever expressed in his son's hearing had been when he was upset at an inanimate object and he'd mutter, "Dread Wolf take you." He and Leandra hadn't raised their three children to follow any particular creed; mage with two mage children was hardly going to adhere to a faith which preached that human mages were cursed from birth. "I'm not really all that religious," Hawke said.

"Oh..." Cullen looked a bit lost, like he wasn't sure how to respond. "Are you hungry? We should probably head to the kitchen, so you can meet the others and get something to eat.

In the five days he'd spent in the dungeons, Hawke had eaten better than he had for most of the three years he'd been in Kirkwall, but it had been a while since he'd last been fed. Who knew that almost having your heart crushed in your chest could work up an appetite? "I could definitely eat," he told Cullen.

The Residence kitchens were small but comfortable looking. Saemus had apparently finished his chores and was sittng at wooden table with two human men, one blond and one dark-haired; a fourth joined them as Hawke and Cullen came into the room. The blond looked up; Hawke noticed that while his ears weren't that pointy, his eyes were an amber shade rarely seen on humans...unless they had elven mothers. All of them had piercings similar to the one Hawke now wore; the two he hadn't yet met both wore leather collars as well.

"You must be the new Sha'len's boy," the blond said. "I'm Alistair, this is Sebastian--" he nodded at the brunet "--Saemus, and this gentleman who feeds us is Bran."

"I'm Hawke." It no longer seemed strange to use just his family name, like he should look around for his father.

"For the record, Sebastian is Athenril's, Bran, Cullen and Saemus all belong to Orana, and lucky me, I'm Zev's. Zevran, to you."

"Master Zevran," Sebastian corrected him.

"Well, of course." Alistair shuffled a deck of cards. "The really important question is, do you play Wicked Grace?"

"I'm not very good," Hawke admitted, taking a seat at the table.

Alistair grinned. "That's fine. Sebastian will probably appreciate letting me take someone else's money for a change."

"You have money?"

"Not much, but we all get an allowance to buy personal stuff," Alistair explained. "Truthfully, we could be a lot worse off. We can go anywhere in the city we want provided we're ostensibly on 'master's business'. We have decent food--more than decent, sorry Bran--and we don't have to share a room with ten other people. Orana even tries to keep the masters out of here, so we can have a bit of space for our own."

Bran stood, ladled stew into a bowl and handed it to Hawke. "Careful, it's hot." Hawke nodded his thanks.

Alistair started shuffling a deck of cards. "Orana mentioned that you were new. It can be difficult to get used to at first. As long as you remember that we're all slaves, and none of us outranks the others, you'll be fine."

"I gather Meredith didn't?"

"She seemed to be under the mistaken impression that her ears were pointed," Alistair said dryly, "And the former Sha'len never bothered to disabuse her of that notion."

Sebastian made the Andrastean sign. "It would have been hard for her to adjust with Orsino gone, but still...a pity."

"If you say so," Alistair muttered. Sebastian gave him a sharp look.

"Let's hope things will settle down now. I expect that executing the damned mages who started it all will help."

Hawke considered letting that slide; they'd find out the truth soon enough. It felt dishonest, though, not a good way to start things off. He exhaled slowly, then took a deep breath. "Mage. Singular. There were two, but only one will be executed."

He watched as the implications of his statement sank in. Neither Bran nor Saemus seemed especially perturbed, but Sebastian was frowning and Cullen, who'd been perfectly friendly five minutes ago, was glowering at Hawke. Alistair just looked curious.

"A renegade human mage is directly involved in the rebellion that led to a dozen dead elves and nearly two hundred dead humans, yet the new Sha'len, who is also Fen'lin, chooses to neither kill you nor send you to the Spire," he said, staring intently at Hawke. "And while I certainly wouldn't kick you out of bed for eating crackers--nothing personal, my friend--I've got to think that it wasn't your stunning good looks that made him spare you. So what was it?"

Hawke had been asking himself that ever since Fenris had shoved him out of the cell. "I think..." he said slowly, "...that he felt sorry for me."

"Sorry?" Cullen hissed. "Your master said he'd kill ten humans for every elven life lost. I haven't been allowed to see my family in days; I don't even know if they're still alive. And he lets you live because he feels sorry for you?"

Hawke opened his mouth to retort that he'd thought the whole thing was a bad idea and he'd tried to talk Danarius out of it. The problem was that he hadn't done the one thing that could have stopped the revolt before it started. Had he gone to the Guard, no one would have died...but he'd have been taken straight to the Spire. And spirits save me, if I had to do it all over again, I don't know that I'd have chosen differently. He stared down at his hands.

"Why weren't you in the Spire in the first place?" Sebastian asked.

"I...don't do well in captivity,"

"Which does make your current situation somewhat ironic," Bran said dryly.

Before Hawke could come up with an appropriate, yet witty riposte, he heard Orana's voice saying, "I can fetch him; there's really no need--"

Everyone scrambled to their feet as Fenris came into the kitchen, with Orana right behind him. Hawke stared at his master, entranced all over again by the pattern of sinuous lines just barely visible under the black armor he wore like a second skin. Only when Fenris raised an incongrously black eyebrow did Hawke remember himself and look down.

"Come," Fenris said, and Hawke followed obediently, falling into step several paces behind the two elves. They went back upstairs to the Sha'len's suite. Hawke noticed that Saemus had removed the rope from the bedposts.

"Here you are, Aman," Orana said. "If anything is not to your liking, please don't hesitate to let me know."

"It's fine, except...where is he supposed to sleep?" Fenris asked, nodding in Hawke's general direction.

"Sha'len Orsino kept Meredith with him," Orana told him, her voice carefully neutral, "But I've taken the liberty of having the pallet in the alcove made up for your slave."

"That's perfect; thank you, Orana." Fenris sounded relieved, but Hawke was oddly disappointed. You'd think I'd welcome having a master who didn't treat me like his personal sex toy.

For some reason, he didn't.