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peopleofthedas2013-05-23 07:46 pm
darkrose) wrote in peopleofthedas2013-05-23 07:46 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: The Truth is Plain to See 3/? (Fenris/Julian Hawke, DA2 AU, M)
Title: The Truth is Plain to See (3/?)
Author:darkrose
Fandom: Dragon Age
Character/Pairings:Fenris/M!Hawke
Length: ~4,940 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: Fenris meets his staff.
"I had no idea this would be so involved," Fenris complained after Orana took Hawke off for a much-needed bath. "I don't know why I let you talk me into it."
Feynriel grinned. "Because I picked up a few things from living here when my mother was Sha'len? Or because I'm always right, which you should know by now?"
Fenris snorted, not quite able to hide his own smile. A century ago when Arianni brought her son back to Arlathan, Feynriel and Fenris had been the only two Fen'lin born to the People in years; they'd bonded over their shared status as outsiders. During their training they'd sparred with spell and blade, the fighter learning to neutralize mages and the mage developing techniques to counter physical attacks. Each of them had sat vigil as the other went through the agonizing process of receiving his vallas'elgar, and they'd traveled together for their first waking trip into the Beyond to be acknowledged by the Dread Wolf.
That hadn't been the only first they'd shared, either. They'd both had other lovers, but they continued to turn to one another; few elvhen were interested in a permanent bond with someone who wouldn't live to see a sixth century. Once, Fenris had even proposed marriage, but Feynriel had turned him down.
"That's the wine talking," Feynriel had told him. "We'll have an eternity together in service to Fen'Harel no matter what happens. While we're here, you deserve someone who's a better match for you than I am." The next morning, when he was more sober, Fenris agreed. Feynriel had a streak of gentleness to him that was unusual for one the living weapons of the elvhenan. It didn't bother Fenris except in bed, where he felt guilty for wanting to sink his teeth into Feynriel's shoulder until he could taste blood, or to run the tips of his armored gauntlets over Feynriel's skin and leave red marks on his skin.
Unbidden, the image of Hawke in the cell sprang to mind. In addition to the scars, he'd noticed that Hawke was big even for a human, tall and more muscular that most would expect from a mage. It was too easy to picture him pinned down while Fenris pounded into him until he screamed.
No. Fenris shook his head. He wasn't going to repeat the mistakes of his predecessors by forming an ill-advised attachment to a shemlen slave. And Creators and the Dread Wolf willing, I won't be here long enough for it to be a problem.
"Ow!" Fenris rubbed his forehead and glared at Feynriel. "What was that for?"
"Just trying to get your attention, lethallin," Feynriel told him, trying and failing to look as if he hadn't just shot a tiny icicle at his commander. "Before you started gathering wool, I'd asked if you wanted me to show you to the audience chamber. You know, so you can meet your new staff?"
"I've already met them, haven't I? When we came here the first time?"
Feynriel sighed. "I know you didn't want this, lethallin, but surely you can see what happens when the Sha'len lets those around him run things. You're going to have to pay attention. Orana said she was going to have everyone gather for formal introductions, remember? Besides, it won't be all bad. Once we're done you can go enjoy your pretty shem."
Fenris glared at his friend. After a long moment, Feynriel looked away. "I didn't claim him to warm my bed," Fenris told him, "but I'll be more than happy to give him to you if you'd like."
Feynriel's panicked response was almost funny. "No! I don't need a slave, thank you. I wouldn't have the first idea what to do with him."
After going through the trouble of binding him with something uncomfortably close to blood magic, Fenris wasn't about to give Hawke up, but Feynriel didn't need to know that. "Keep needling me about him and I won't give you any choice."
Feynriel shook his head. "You're cruel, Fenris."
"It's been remarked."
The audience chamber was one of the few areas of the Residence that had been dramatically altered since the Tevinter days. The throne room designed to showcase the might of the Imperium and the power of whichever magister had schemed and murdered his way to the Regency had been completely revamped into something more suited to elvhen sensibilities. Stonework had been replaced by painted wooden panels and Rivaini-style mosaics, with the pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling carved to resemble trees. Enormous windows gave the room a spaciousness that invoked the public structures in the great forest-cities of Arlathan and Halamshiral. The Regent's marble throne had been removed and destroyed, replaced by carved ironwood chairs arranged in a half-circle.
Fenris noted that someone--most likely Orana--had made sure there were six chairs, one for each of the Sha'len's chief advisors, one for Fenris, and the other presumably for Feynriel. All but two of the chairs were occupied; Fenris took an empty one in the center and gestured for Feynriel to take the one next to him.
"Arhim atish’an, all of you." Fenris wasn't really coming in peace, but formalities were important to the People. He nodded to Lia, who was sitting beside Feynriel. "You I know, Guard-Captain, and Hearth-Keeper Orana as well, but I don't believe we've met...?" He turned to the sharp-faced woman seated next to him.
"Athenril, Aman'harel," she said. "Land-Keeper of this city--or Seneschal, as the shemlen say it."
Fenris nodded, then looked down to the far end of the semi-circle, where a lanky blond--A shem'lin among the Ravens? I suppose it makes a certain sense.-- was sprawled across a chair. "And you are the Raven....We met briefly, yes?"
The man stood, bowed, and draped himself over his chair again. "Zevran of Clan Arainai at your service. I am a First Wingmaster of the Ravens, but..." he waved an elegant, long-fingered hand. "That is merely a technicality. I am most honored to make your acquaintance, Aman'harelen."
"Indeed." Fenris nodded toward him. "I look forward to working with you. I am most interested in hearing why the group tasked with watching the shemlen failed to notice a major rebellion developing."
Zevran smiled. "Ah, but I suspect you already know the answer to that, since you have replaced the good Orsino as Sha'len. It was his wish that the shemlen feel the hand of elvhen rule only lightly, which resulted in a certain degree of...permissiveness that encouraged discontent to blossom into open revolt."
It was hard to argue with that, even if something about Zevran made Fenris want to. He glanced around the room, committing faces and names to memory, and frowned. "The First Enchanter of the An'ethda'lanen isn't here."
"Ah...I can answer that," Feynriel said. "The First Enchanter isn't considered one of the Sha'len's advisors; he answers only to the Circle of Magi in Arlathan. Orsino is a mage, as was my mother; they served as their own magical advisors. For you, well...that's why I'm here."
Fenris nodded. "Just so I know, who is the First Enchanter?"
"Huon, of Clan Sabrae." Zevran's face was studiously neutral. Only Feynriel seemed to have any kind of reaction.
"Really? But...he was First Enchanter when my mother was named Sha'len. He's still here? That's...odd." Elvhen who lived among humans rarely stayed more than a century; lyrium mitigated the effects of the Quickening, but the small amounts worn by elvhen in the cities provided protection for a limited time. The full vallas'elgar were very effective at warding off human mortality, but eventually the Fen'lin succumbed to the massive amounts of lyrium in their bodies and died far sooner than other elvhen. The markings gave the Fen'lin other gifts that were deemed of greater use to the People than playing nursemaid to a race of unruly children.
Zevran shrugged in response to Feynriel's remark. "It is odd, isn't it?"
Huffing a sigh between clenched teeth, Fenris made a mental note to discuss the issue with Feynriel later. "I suppose that's all for now, then."
"Is the city still under martial law?" Lia asked.
I should have thought of mentioning that. "Yes. As I indicated earlier, the shemlen are to be allowed to collect their dead and deal with them according to their traditions, but only during daylight hours. The Sha'len'an is to remain closed to all shemlen; no exceptions."
"So we're to send our slaves away?" Athenril asked. Fenris wanted to kick himself.
"That would be the one exception, I suppose." He cleared his throat. "Guard-Captain, I would like you to gather as many of the shemlen as possible at the city gates tomorrow at noon. I intend to deal with the renegade mage responsible for this, and I want to the fate of any who try to emulate him very clear."
"Understood."
"And what of the other mage? I believe he was Danarius's apprentice?" Zevran asked.
Fenris glance at Feynriel, who turned to Zevran and said, "We have chosen to spare his life, as he served Danarius against his will. Fenris has claimed him as a slave."
Athenril and Zevran both looked surprised, so Fenris quickly added, "Don't think I'm going to be like Orsino, and let my human pet lead me around by the nose."
Zevran grinned at that. "Or by points a bit south of your nose, no doubt."
"Precisely," Fenris ground out from between clenched teeth. He stood. "Thank you all; I will see you at noon tomorrow."
When everyone but Feynriel had left, Fenris pounded one of the carved tree pillars, cursing when his glowing fist went through the stone. "Why does everyone think I can't wait to bed a human? They're big and hairy and not really that attractive, and I'm not interested!"
"Some people find them appealing." Feynriel murmured. Fenris turned and opened his mouth to apologize, but Feynriel waved a hand. "Don't. It's not necessary. I'm only saying that there are those among the elvhen who find the differences between our races...intriguing."
"And yet, while they have a similar shape to us and the shemlen I haven't heard of any of the People taking up with the durgen'len."
Feynriel made a face. "That's certainly true. But the dwarves aren't as much like us as humans are. They have no access to the Beyond, so they don't dream or use magic. And they prefer to live underground, while the shemlen stay above ground as we do. I don't know if it would be possible for a dwarf and one of us to have a child, but clearly, we can breed perfectly well with humans."
Before Fenris could come up with a response that wasn't completely insensitive, Feynriel continued, "I asked my mother once: what's the use in caring for someone when you have so little time with him? She said, 'They burn much too quickly, but so very bright.' Not so different from us, when you think about it."
Feynriel stood and stretched. "You're thinking about this too hard, lethallin. When have we--have you--ever cared what others say? You don't have to use him to warm your bed. He can run errands in the city for you, or take care of your weapons and armor--"
"But he's a mage."
"A renegade mage. From what he said, I don't think he's a runaway; he's never been in the An'ethda'lanen. He can't have survived and eluded the Guard and the Ravens without having skills other than magic." Feynriel waggled his eyebrows. "And frankly, if you do decide to take advantage of those other skills, I don't think he'd object."
"Thanks for that insight," Fenris said sourly. "What would I do without you?"
"Be bored, I'd imagine." Feynriel punched him lightly in the shoulder. "We should go. Orana's probably waiting on us."
She was. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you both to your rooms. I've prepared one of the guest suites for you if that's acceptable, Aman'harel Feynriel?"
Feynriel smiled, and as people tended to do around him, she smiled back. "Considering that sleeping in the barracks would be a step up from some of the places we've been, I'd say that's more than acceptable. I'm fairly sure I remember where the guest quarters are."
"If you're sure..." Orana looked somewhat skeptical. "Do you have any baggage, or anything that needs to be brought up to the suite?"
"We travel lightly," Fenris put in. His warband was almost always on the move, dealing with the Void-spawned horrors that were the legacy of the Tevinter magisters. The demonic incursions had increased in frequency over the past decade, and Fenris had taken to traveling with only what he could stuff into a saddlebag or carry himself. His room in the Fen'lin clan-home was almost empty, and he hardly ever slept in it for more than two nights running.
Feynriel went off toward the guest wing of the Residence. Orana paused for a moment. "Would you like me to fetch your slave, Aman'harel?"
"Er...yes, thank you." As she turned to go down the main staircase, he stopped her. "As you know, I've never had a slave. What, precisely am I expected to have him do?"
She smiled. "Bran is an excellent cook and Cullen and Seamus take care of most of the housekeeping, and that's all I ask of them. Seamus knows the city very well and is fast, so I often send him to do the shopping or deliver messages. You're not required to have a shem around to sleep with; frankly, they're more trouble than they're worth in that regard." She sniffed, then gave him a critical once-over. "Perhaps you might wish to have your Hawke buy something for you to wear while you're here. I imagine that armor must get uncomfortable."
Fenris felt the tips of his ears go red. "I'm used to it," he told her. His armor really was like a second skin; having something cooler to wear in the hot, humid summer months might not be a bad thing. "But...I'll definitely keep that in mind."
Orana nodded. "Cullen should have finished showing him around by now; I'll just be a moment."
Fenris leaned on the marble railing and watched her go, wondering if he'd ever be able to navigate the corridors of his new home as easily as she did. From his vantage point, he could see the entry hall, designed awe and intimidate, not to welcome. Colorful elvhen tapestries hung from the walls, but they did little to soften the forbidding atmosphere.
I don't care what Feynriel says; a race that chooses to live surrounded by stone walls has little in common with the People. Elvhen architecture was designed to harmonize with the natural world, not to set them apart from it. Even the relatively austere clan-home of the Fen'lin looked from the outside like part of the forest--the dark, menacing part.
Bored, Fenris drummed his fingers on the railing. Orana's definition of 'a moment' must be different from mine. He was contemplating going to look for her when he heart the faint sound of voices below. Among the gifts granted by the lyrium in his blood was enhanced senses of sight, smell, and sound, but he was a little too far away to make out the conversation. He crept silently down the stairs and peered around a corner to see Orana talking in hushed tones with the Raven.
"...no idea. You think anyone bothers to tell me anything? I'd expect you to know more than I do."
"I would as well. And yet, although the Ravenmistress sits on the Council, she said nothing of this to me. It's very strange, especially when he was just here. Why recall him to Arlathan only to send him back days later?"
"Did you see him at the gates? Do you know why he killed Meredith? I don't miss her, but I would have expected her to go with Orsino."
Fenris edged closer, keeping just out of sight.
"Perhaps that would have been the case if Orsino was leaving of his own accord. Our wolf sent him back to the Council under guard, as all but a prisoner. From what I overheard, Meredith objected to the idea of being sent to the An'ethda'lanen and was foolish enough to draw steel on a Fen'lin."
"Was it the lyrium?"
"It is an intriguing possibility, no? It makes one wonder how much the Council knows about matters here--and how they are obtaining the information. Especially since the current Ravenmistress is Kin to the Wolf herself and keeps her own secrets."
Fenris ground his teeth. Give me something to swing a sword at and leave this political nonsense to those who care about such things.
"I must confess that I find our wolf most intriguing. Pity for a human mage seems a bit out of character."
"Yes, when you consider how ruthless he was in putting down the revolt." Orana chuckled softly. "He does seem to be a bit baffled at having a slave. It's almost sweet."
Fenris had heard more than enough. He stepped out of the shadows and strode toward Orana and Zevran. They both noticed him at the same time, their eyes going wide.
"Ir abelas, Aman'harel, I allowed myself to be distracted," Orana said, bowing deeply.
"Where can I find my slave?"
Orana pointed. "The kitchen is down the hall and around the corner, but please, allow me--"
"Thank you." Fenris took off, lengthening his stride so the small woman couldn't keep up and heading in the direction she'd indicated.
Finding the kitchen was easy enough; Fenris just followed the scents of food that made his stomach growl, reminding him that he hadn't eaten all day. Behind him he heard Orana saying, "I can fetch him; there's really no need--"
Everyone scrambled to their feet as Fenris came into the kitchen. Five of the six humans--all males, Fenris noticed--bowed their heads. The sixth was Hawke, who stared at his master. Fenris raised an eyebrow and at last Hawke remembered himself and looked down.
"Come," Fenris said, and Hawke followed, falling into step several paces behind Fenris and Orana. She glared at Fenris as she led the way upstairs to the Sha'len's suite.
"I do apologize for the delay, Aman'harel. However, in the future, it might be best if you didn't go into the kitchen. I try to let the slaves have that as their space, where they can relax a little."
"I will keep it in mind," Fenris replied. "And that is...thoughtful of you, but don't you worry about them taking advantage of your kindness?"
Orana's expression was incredulous. "You mean, am I afraid they're plotting sedition in the kitchen? Certainly not. They're treated well here: they have a safe place to sleep and they never go hungry, which many of the shemlen in the lower city would be grateful for. What would they have to gain by rebelling?"
Their freedom Fenris was bound by a bargain made long before his birth, to serve the greater elvhenan, but the idea of being totally subject to the will of another as a thing to be owned was inconceivable to him. We never had a word for that until we met the Tevinters. It was an uncomfortable thought.
"Here you are, Aman'harel," Orana said, throwing open the doors to the Sha'len's suite. "If anything is not to your liking, please don't hesitate to let me know."
The bedroom alone was substantially larger than Fenris's quarters in the clan-home, and was dominated by a massive four-poster bed large enough to fit Fenris, Feynriel, and one other member of the warband--two if all involved were good friends. He could see a writing desk past one open door and a private bathroom through another. It was more space than Fenris could ever envision needing, if it weren't for his newly-acquired slave.
"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 said, her carefully neutral tone telling Fenris what she thought of that, "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 glanced over at Hawke, and for an instant, he thought he saw a flicker of disappointment cross the man's face. He's not happy that I don't want to make him my personal, unpaid whore? Did the blood mage break him somehow?
Orana coughed discreetly. "One other thing, Aman'harel Fenris...if you wish, I can send one of my boys out to an armorsmith for a temporary collar. That way he'll have something if he accompanies you tomorrow."
"I don't understand; what do you mean?"
"Something to show his status," she explained.
Fenris frowned. "I thought that's what the piercing was for."
"Well...not exactly. It's so you can find him if he tries to run."
"Ah. Like a mage's phylactery." On rare occasions, a human mage escaped the An'ethda'lanen. Usually they were caught quickly, turned in by their fellow shemlen. If the mage evaded capture and was deemed sufficiently dangerous, the Fen'lin and their unique abilities might be brought in.
"Very much like that," Orana said, "And the piercing can be hidden by hair or a hood. A collar is more like a...pass, I suppose you'd say. Anyone can see that a shem wearing one is a slave, and if they're in the Sha'len'an it shows they have permission to be there. I only insist that my boys wear them when the go out, but Zevran and Athenril have theirs collared all the time. If you plan to take your slave to witness the execution tomorrow he'll be with you, of course, but given the circumstances..."
Fenris nodded. "It would be good to make it clear that he is still being punished for his part in the rebellion; that makes sense. Please proceed as you see fit, then."
"Certainly, Aman'harel. You can commission something to your liking later, though if you want a mage collar, you would need to send home for that."
Interesting. Even after several years here, Arlathan is still "home" to her. For some reason, Fenris found that reassuring. He glanced over at Hawke, still standing in the door. Hawke's left hand was clenched in a tight fist, his face studiously blank.
"That won't be necessary, thank you," Fenris told Orana. "I can handle a single mage if he chooses to be difficult." He activated his markings, just enough to make them glow faintly.
Orana took a step back. "Of--of course, Aman'harel. It will be as you wish. Shall I send someone up with food?" He nodded; Orana turned and practically fled out of the room.
Fenris allowed himself a grim little smile. In the common speech, Aman'harel meant "feared defender". Though the Fen'lin served as the ultimate defense of the elvhenan, the People feared them as much for their connection to the Dread Wolf as for their unsettling abilities. He was not above reminding these city-dwelling elves of what their new Sha'len was.
He turned to look at Hawke, whose expression had changed to one of naked hunger as he looked at Fenris. Realizing that he was still glowing blue, Fenris released the power channeled through his vallas'elgar and let the glow fade.
"You. Hawke." He nodded toward one of the chairs in the room. "Sit down. I don't need you looming over me." He ignored the tiny voice in his head that whispered, You could order him to his knees, and he would probably thank you for it.
Hawke settled himself somewhat gingerly in an intricately carved wooden chair. Fenris took the matching one and studied his new possession. His features were regular but his small ears a large nose made him seem oddly unfinished in comparison with the elvhen. His hands were big as well, with long fingers currently twitching where they rested on his knees. And like so many male humans, he had hair on his face, though Fenris couldn't tell if it was intentional or if he just hadn't had a chance to shave in several days. Despite himself, Fenris had to admit that he was attractive in a rough sort of way.
Enough. "So tell me: aside from blood magic and fomenting rebellion, do you have any other useful skills?"
"I'm a fair cook, though I can't imagine you'll need me to do that," Hawke said. "I've been told I have a good voice, but I know it's nothing compared to elven singers."
Fenris found most elvhen music overly complex, and his limited life span meant that spending several days listening to a single composition being performed was not a good use of his time. Hawke's speaking voice was....not unpleasant, and his accent didn't grate on Fenris's sensitive ears like human renditions of the elvhen tongue normally did. It certainly wasn't what Fenris considered a useful skill, though. "Go on."
"I'm a champion at herding sheep--pretty much anything to do with wool, really--from carding to spinning and dying to knitting. Again, it's not like the stuff you get from the elven goats, but it keeps you warm in the winter. I can sew well enough to mend, but nothing fancy, my--" Hawke bit his lip and quickly said, "I can do pretty much all the other heavy lifting around a farm, though I despise chickens unless they're on a plate. Mean little buggers they are."
"But you're a mage." All of the People had at least enough magic to light a candle or heat water, but those truly gifted, like Feynriel, were rare; Fenris couldn't imaging someone with that talent doing nothing but everyday tasks.
"A renegade mage," Hawke said with a hint of bitterness, "Who spent most of my life learning to hide who I am and what I can do."
Fenris shrugged. "You could have practiced your art had you gone to the An'ethda'lanen like you were supposed to. All of this is very interesting, but of little use to me. Are you literate?"
Hawke's expression brightened a little. "Oh, yes. I can read and write--though I've been told my rendering of traditional Elven is pretty bad--and I can read and write a little Arcanum.
"And where did you learn that?" Fenris asked. Hawke squirmed.
"Danarius had some books dating back to the old Imperium. That's where he found most of the blood magic spells and rituals he used."
Fenris made a mental note to have Feynriel track down the books. The last thing we need is for another ambitious shem to get his hands on those. "Very well. One of your duties will likely be serving as my scribe. My own hand has been criticized often; I doubt your writing is worse than mine."
Hawke looked startled. "Yes? What is it?"
"I've just never heard an elf admit that a human might be better at something."
One of Fenris's eyebrows went up. "Have you encountered very many of us, then?"
"Er...no, actually. Come to think of it...this is probably the longest conversation I've ever had with an elf."
There was a soft, tentative knock on the door. Fenris looked at Hawke, then at the door, and after a brief hesitation, Hawke went to open it. A slightly built human male who looked very young--though Fenris found it impossible to judge their ages--stood holding a tray in trembling hands.
Hawke relieved the young slave of his burden. "Thank you--Seamus, right?" The boy nodded, staring between master and slave as though he couldn't decide who frightened him more, and fled, almost tripping over himself in his haste to get away.
"Have you eaten?" Fenris asked as Hawke set the tray on a table.
"Yes, Master."
"Good. I will want to bathe later; once that's been prepared I will have no further need of you--for the evening," he added quickly at Hawke's panicked look. "I trust you still wish to watch your former master pay for his crimes?"
"You have no idea," Hawke muttered, adding a bit louder, "Very much so, Master."
"You will accompany me tomorrow and you will have your chance."
Hawke smiled, and once again, Fenris wondered if the An'ethda'lanen was truly so that awful that serving a man he'd clearly loathed seemed like the better alternative. Maybe Feynriel will be able to tell me more. He turned his attention to his dinner, poking cautiously at the food before using his sticks to taste a bite. Orana must have trained the cook well, because the food was all complex, precisely balanced flavors and subtle spices, designed to appeal to the elvhen palate. In fact, it was the best meal Fenris had ever eaten outside of Arlathan.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hawke stand and head toward the bathroom, hesitating in the doorway. He cleared his throat and Fenris looked up.
"I just...thank you, Master. For not killing me. I promise I won't do anything to make you regret that."
"See that you don't," Fenris told him, "Because I can always change my mind."
Humans are very strange.
Author:
darkroseFandom: Dragon Age
Character/Pairings:Fenris/M!Hawke
Length: ~4,940 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: Fenris meets his staff.
"I had no idea this would be so involved," Fenris complained after Orana took Hawke off for a much-needed bath. "I don't know why I let you talk me into it."
Feynriel grinned. "Because I picked up a few things from living here when my mother was Sha'len? Or because I'm always right, which you should know by now?"
Fenris snorted, not quite able to hide his own smile. A century ago when Arianni brought her son back to Arlathan, Feynriel and Fenris had been the only two Fen'lin born to the People in years; they'd bonded over their shared status as outsiders. During their training they'd sparred with spell and blade, the fighter learning to neutralize mages and the mage developing techniques to counter physical attacks. Each of them had sat vigil as the other went through the agonizing process of receiving his vallas'elgar, and they'd traveled together for their first waking trip into the Beyond to be acknowledged by the Dread Wolf.
That hadn't been the only first they'd shared, either. They'd both had other lovers, but they continued to turn to one another; few elvhen were interested in a permanent bond with someone who wouldn't live to see a sixth century. Once, Fenris had even proposed marriage, but Feynriel had turned him down.
"That's the wine talking," Feynriel had told him. "We'll have an eternity together in service to Fen'Harel no matter what happens. While we're here, you deserve someone who's a better match for you than I am." The next morning, when he was more sober, Fenris agreed. Feynriel had a streak of gentleness to him that was unusual for one the living weapons of the elvhenan. It didn't bother Fenris except in bed, where he felt guilty for wanting to sink his teeth into Feynriel's shoulder until he could taste blood, or to run the tips of his armored gauntlets over Feynriel's skin and leave red marks on his skin.
Unbidden, the image of Hawke in the cell sprang to mind. In addition to the scars, he'd noticed that Hawke was big even for a human, tall and more muscular that most would expect from a mage. It was too easy to picture him pinned down while Fenris pounded into him until he screamed.
No. Fenris shook his head. He wasn't going to repeat the mistakes of his predecessors by forming an ill-advised attachment to a shemlen slave. And Creators and the Dread Wolf willing, I won't be here long enough for it to be a problem.
"Ow!" Fenris rubbed his forehead and glared at Feynriel. "What was that for?"
"Just trying to get your attention, lethallin," Feynriel told him, trying and failing to look as if he hadn't just shot a tiny icicle at his commander. "Before you started gathering wool, I'd asked if you wanted me to show you to the audience chamber. You know, so you can meet your new staff?"
"I've already met them, haven't I? When we came here the first time?"
Feynriel sighed. "I know you didn't want this, lethallin, but surely you can see what happens when the Sha'len lets those around him run things. You're going to have to pay attention. Orana said she was going to have everyone gather for formal introductions, remember? Besides, it won't be all bad. Once we're done you can go enjoy your pretty shem."
Fenris glared at his friend. After a long moment, Feynriel looked away. "I didn't claim him to warm my bed," Fenris told him, "but I'll be more than happy to give him to you if you'd like."
Feynriel's panicked response was almost funny. "No! I don't need a slave, thank you. I wouldn't have the first idea what to do with him."
After going through the trouble of binding him with something uncomfortably close to blood magic, Fenris wasn't about to give Hawke up, but Feynriel didn't need to know that. "Keep needling me about him and I won't give you any choice."
Feynriel shook his head. "You're cruel, Fenris."
"It's been remarked."
The audience chamber was one of the few areas of the Residence that had been dramatically altered since the Tevinter days. The throne room designed to showcase the might of the Imperium and the power of whichever magister had schemed and murdered his way to the Regency had been completely revamped into something more suited to elvhen sensibilities. Stonework had been replaced by painted wooden panels and Rivaini-style mosaics, with the pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling carved to resemble trees. Enormous windows gave the room a spaciousness that invoked the public structures in the great forest-cities of Arlathan and Halamshiral. The Regent's marble throne had been removed and destroyed, replaced by carved ironwood chairs arranged in a half-circle.
Fenris noted that someone--most likely Orana--had made sure there were six chairs, one for each of the Sha'len's chief advisors, one for Fenris, and the other presumably for Feynriel. All but two of the chairs were occupied; Fenris took an empty one in the center and gestured for Feynriel to take the one next to him.
"Arhim atish’an, all of you." Fenris wasn't really coming in peace, but formalities were important to the People. He nodded to Lia, who was sitting beside Feynriel. "You I know, Guard-Captain, and Hearth-Keeper Orana as well, but I don't believe we've met...?" He turned to the sharp-faced woman seated next to him.
"Athenril, Aman'harel," she said. "Land-Keeper of this city--or Seneschal, as the shemlen say it."
Fenris nodded, then looked down to the far end of the semi-circle, where a lanky blond--A shem'lin among the Ravens? I suppose it makes a certain sense.-- was sprawled across a chair. "And you are the Raven....We met briefly, yes?"
The man stood, bowed, and draped himself over his chair again. "Zevran of Clan Arainai at your service. I am a First Wingmaster of the Ravens, but..." he waved an elegant, long-fingered hand. "That is merely a technicality. I am most honored to make your acquaintance, Aman'harelen."
"Indeed." Fenris nodded toward him. "I look forward to working with you. I am most interested in hearing why the group tasked with watching the shemlen failed to notice a major rebellion developing."
Zevran smiled. "Ah, but I suspect you already know the answer to that, since you have replaced the good Orsino as Sha'len. It was his wish that the shemlen feel the hand of elvhen rule only lightly, which resulted in a certain degree of...permissiveness that encouraged discontent to blossom into open revolt."
It was hard to argue with that, even if something about Zevran made Fenris want to. He glanced around the room, committing faces and names to memory, and frowned. "The First Enchanter of the An'ethda'lanen isn't here."
"Ah...I can answer that," Feynriel said. "The First Enchanter isn't considered one of the Sha'len's advisors; he answers only to the Circle of Magi in Arlathan. Orsino is a mage, as was my mother; they served as their own magical advisors. For you, well...that's why I'm here."
Fenris nodded. "Just so I know, who is the First Enchanter?"
"Huon, of Clan Sabrae." Zevran's face was studiously neutral. Only Feynriel seemed to have any kind of reaction.
"Really? But...he was First Enchanter when my mother was named Sha'len. He's still here? That's...odd." Elvhen who lived among humans rarely stayed more than a century; lyrium mitigated the effects of the Quickening, but the small amounts worn by elvhen in the cities provided protection for a limited time. The full vallas'elgar were very effective at warding off human mortality, but eventually the Fen'lin succumbed to the massive amounts of lyrium in their bodies and died far sooner than other elvhen. The markings gave the Fen'lin other gifts that were deemed of greater use to the People than playing nursemaid to a race of unruly children.
Zevran shrugged in response to Feynriel's remark. "It is odd, isn't it?"
Huffing a sigh between clenched teeth, Fenris made a mental note to discuss the issue with Feynriel later. "I suppose that's all for now, then."
"Is the city still under martial law?" Lia asked.
I should have thought of mentioning that. "Yes. As I indicated earlier, the shemlen are to be allowed to collect their dead and deal with them according to their traditions, but only during daylight hours. The Sha'len'an is to remain closed to all shemlen; no exceptions."
"So we're to send our slaves away?" Athenril asked. Fenris wanted to kick himself.
"That would be the one exception, I suppose." He cleared his throat. "Guard-Captain, I would like you to gather as many of the shemlen as possible at the city gates tomorrow at noon. I intend to deal with the renegade mage responsible for this, and I want to the fate of any who try to emulate him very clear."
"Understood."
"And what of the other mage? I believe he was Danarius's apprentice?" Zevran asked.
Fenris glance at Feynriel, who turned to Zevran and said, "We have chosen to spare his life, as he served Danarius against his will. Fenris has claimed him as a slave."
Athenril and Zevran both looked surprised, so Fenris quickly added, "Don't think I'm going to be like Orsino, and let my human pet lead me around by the nose."
Zevran grinned at that. "Or by points a bit south of your nose, no doubt."
"Precisely," Fenris ground out from between clenched teeth. He stood. "Thank you all; I will see you at noon tomorrow."
When everyone but Feynriel had left, Fenris pounded one of the carved tree pillars, cursing when his glowing fist went through the stone. "Why does everyone think I can't wait to bed a human? They're big and hairy and not really that attractive, and I'm not interested!"
"Some people find them appealing." Feynriel murmured. Fenris turned and opened his mouth to apologize, but Feynriel waved a hand. "Don't. It's not necessary. I'm only saying that there are those among the elvhen who find the differences between our races...intriguing."
"And yet, while they have a similar shape to us and the shemlen I haven't heard of any of the People taking up with the durgen'len."
Feynriel made a face. "That's certainly true. But the dwarves aren't as much like us as humans are. They have no access to the Beyond, so they don't dream or use magic. And they prefer to live underground, while the shemlen stay above ground as we do. I don't know if it would be possible for a dwarf and one of us to have a child, but clearly, we can breed perfectly well with humans."
Before Fenris could come up with a response that wasn't completely insensitive, Feynriel continued, "I asked my mother once: what's the use in caring for someone when you have so little time with him? She said, 'They burn much too quickly, but so very bright.' Not so different from us, when you think about it."
Feynriel stood and stretched. "You're thinking about this too hard, lethallin. When have we--have you--ever cared what others say? You don't have to use him to warm your bed. He can run errands in the city for you, or take care of your weapons and armor--"
"But he's a mage."
"A renegade mage. From what he said, I don't think he's a runaway; he's never been in the An'ethda'lanen. He can't have survived and eluded the Guard and the Ravens without having skills other than magic." Feynriel waggled his eyebrows. "And frankly, if you do decide to take advantage of those other skills, I don't think he'd object."
"Thanks for that insight," Fenris said sourly. "What would I do without you?"
"Be bored, I'd imagine." Feynriel punched him lightly in the shoulder. "We should go. Orana's probably waiting on us."
She was. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you both to your rooms. I've prepared one of the guest suites for you if that's acceptable, Aman'harel Feynriel?"
Feynriel smiled, and as people tended to do around him, she smiled back. "Considering that sleeping in the barracks would be a step up from some of the places we've been, I'd say that's more than acceptable. I'm fairly sure I remember where the guest quarters are."
"If you're sure..." Orana looked somewhat skeptical. "Do you have any baggage, or anything that needs to be brought up to the suite?"
"We travel lightly," Fenris put in. His warband was almost always on the move, dealing with the Void-spawned horrors that were the legacy of the Tevinter magisters. The demonic incursions had increased in frequency over the past decade, and Fenris had taken to traveling with only what he could stuff into a saddlebag or carry himself. His room in the Fen'lin clan-home was almost empty, and he hardly ever slept in it for more than two nights running.
Feynriel went off toward the guest wing of the Residence. Orana paused for a moment. "Would you like me to fetch your slave, Aman'harel?"
"Er...yes, thank you." As she turned to go down the main staircase, he stopped her. "As you know, I've never had a slave. What, precisely am I expected to have him do?"
She smiled. "Bran is an excellent cook and Cullen and Seamus take care of most of the housekeeping, and that's all I ask of them. Seamus knows the city very well and is fast, so I often send him to do the shopping or deliver messages. You're not required to have a shem around to sleep with; frankly, they're more trouble than they're worth in that regard." She sniffed, then gave him a critical once-over. "Perhaps you might wish to have your Hawke buy something for you to wear while you're here. I imagine that armor must get uncomfortable."
Fenris felt the tips of his ears go red. "I'm used to it," he told her. His armor really was like a second skin; having something cooler to wear in the hot, humid summer months might not be a bad thing. "But...I'll definitely keep that in mind."
Orana nodded. "Cullen should have finished showing him around by now; I'll just be a moment."
Fenris leaned on the marble railing and watched her go, wondering if he'd ever be able to navigate the corridors of his new home as easily as she did. From his vantage point, he could see the entry hall, designed awe and intimidate, not to welcome. Colorful elvhen tapestries hung from the walls, but they did little to soften the forbidding atmosphere.
I don't care what Feynriel says; a race that chooses to live surrounded by stone walls has little in common with the People. Elvhen architecture was designed to harmonize with the natural world, not to set them apart from it. Even the relatively austere clan-home of the Fen'lin looked from the outside like part of the forest--the dark, menacing part.
Bored, Fenris drummed his fingers on the railing. Orana's definition of 'a moment' must be different from mine. He was contemplating going to look for her when he heart the faint sound of voices below. Among the gifts granted by the lyrium in his blood was enhanced senses of sight, smell, and sound, but he was a little too far away to make out the conversation. He crept silently down the stairs and peered around a corner to see Orana talking in hushed tones with the Raven.
"...no idea. You think anyone bothers to tell me anything? I'd expect you to know more than I do."
"I would as well. And yet, although the Ravenmistress sits on the Council, she said nothing of this to me. It's very strange, especially when he was just here. Why recall him to Arlathan only to send him back days later?"
"Did you see him at the gates? Do you know why he killed Meredith? I don't miss her, but I would have expected her to go with Orsino."
Fenris edged closer, keeping just out of sight.
"Perhaps that would have been the case if Orsino was leaving of his own accord. Our wolf sent him back to the Council under guard, as all but a prisoner. From what I overheard, Meredith objected to the idea of being sent to the An'ethda'lanen and was foolish enough to draw steel on a Fen'lin."
"Was it the lyrium?"
"It is an intriguing possibility, no? It makes one wonder how much the Council knows about matters here--and how they are obtaining the information. Especially since the current Ravenmistress is Kin to the Wolf herself and keeps her own secrets."
Fenris ground his teeth. Give me something to swing a sword at and leave this political nonsense to those who care about such things.
"I must confess that I find our wolf most intriguing. Pity for a human mage seems a bit out of character."
"Yes, when you consider how ruthless he was in putting down the revolt." Orana chuckled softly. "He does seem to be a bit baffled at having a slave. It's almost sweet."
Fenris had heard more than enough. He stepped out of the shadows and strode toward Orana and Zevran. They both noticed him at the same time, their eyes going wide.
"Ir abelas, Aman'harel, I allowed myself to be distracted," Orana said, bowing deeply.
"Where can I find my slave?"
Orana pointed. "The kitchen is down the hall and around the corner, but please, allow me--"
"Thank you." Fenris took off, lengthening his stride so the small woman couldn't keep up and heading in the direction she'd indicated.
Finding the kitchen was easy enough; Fenris just followed the scents of food that made his stomach growl, reminding him that he hadn't eaten all day. Behind him he heard Orana saying, "I can fetch him; there's really no need--"
Everyone scrambled to their feet as Fenris came into the kitchen. Five of the six humans--all males, Fenris noticed--bowed their heads. The sixth was Hawke, who stared at his master. Fenris raised an eyebrow and at last Hawke remembered himself and looked down.
"Come," Fenris said, and Hawke followed, falling into step several paces behind Fenris and Orana. She glared at Fenris as she led the way upstairs to the Sha'len's suite.
"I do apologize for the delay, Aman'harel. However, in the future, it might be best if you didn't go into the kitchen. I try to let the slaves have that as their space, where they can relax a little."
"I will keep it in mind," Fenris replied. "And that is...thoughtful of you, but don't you worry about them taking advantage of your kindness?"
Orana's expression was incredulous. "You mean, am I afraid they're plotting sedition in the kitchen? Certainly not. They're treated well here: they have a safe place to sleep and they never go hungry, which many of the shemlen in the lower city would be grateful for. What would they have to gain by rebelling?"
Their freedom Fenris was bound by a bargain made long before his birth, to serve the greater elvhenan, but the idea of being totally subject to the will of another as a thing to be owned was inconceivable to him. We never had a word for that until we met the Tevinters. It was an uncomfortable thought.
"Here you are, Aman'harel," Orana said, throwing open the doors to the Sha'len's suite. "If anything is not to your liking, please don't hesitate to let me know."
The bedroom alone was substantially larger than Fenris's quarters in the clan-home, and was dominated by a massive four-poster bed large enough to fit Fenris, Feynriel, and one other member of the warband--two if all involved were good friends. He could see a writing desk past one open door and a private bathroom through another. It was more space than Fenris could ever envision needing, if it weren't for his newly-acquired slave.
"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 said, her carefully neutral tone telling Fenris what she thought of that, "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 glanced over at Hawke, and for an instant, he thought he saw a flicker of disappointment cross the man's face. He's not happy that I don't want to make him my personal, unpaid whore? Did the blood mage break him somehow?
Orana coughed discreetly. "One other thing, Aman'harel Fenris...if you wish, I can send one of my boys out to an armorsmith for a temporary collar. That way he'll have something if he accompanies you tomorrow."
"I don't understand; what do you mean?"
"Something to show his status," she explained.
Fenris frowned. "I thought that's what the piercing was for."
"Well...not exactly. It's so you can find him if he tries to run."
"Ah. Like a mage's phylactery." On rare occasions, a human mage escaped the An'ethda'lanen. Usually they were caught quickly, turned in by their fellow shemlen. If the mage evaded capture and was deemed sufficiently dangerous, the Fen'lin and their unique abilities might be brought in.
"Very much like that," Orana said, "And the piercing can be hidden by hair or a hood. A collar is more like a...pass, I suppose you'd say. Anyone can see that a shem wearing one is a slave, and if they're in the Sha'len'an it shows they have permission to be there. I only insist that my boys wear them when the go out, but Zevran and Athenril have theirs collared all the time. If you plan to take your slave to witness the execution tomorrow he'll be with you, of course, but given the circumstances..."
Fenris nodded. "It would be good to make it clear that he is still being punished for his part in the rebellion; that makes sense. Please proceed as you see fit, then."
"Certainly, Aman'harel. You can commission something to your liking later, though if you want a mage collar, you would need to send home for that."
Interesting. Even after several years here, Arlathan is still "home" to her. For some reason, Fenris found that reassuring. He glanced over at Hawke, still standing in the door. Hawke's left hand was clenched in a tight fist, his face studiously blank.
"That won't be necessary, thank you," Fenris told Orana. "I can handle a single mage if he chooses to be difficult." He activated his markings, just enough to make them glow faintly.
Orana took a step back. "Of--of course, Aman'harel. It will be as you wish. Shall I send someone up with food?" He nodded; Orana turned and practically fled out of the room.
Fenris allowed himself a grim little smile. In the common speech, Aman'harel meant "feared defender". Though the Fen'lin served as the ultimate defense of the elvhenan, the People feared them as much for their connection to the Dread Wolf as for their unsettling abilities. He was not above reminding these city-dwelling elves of what their new Sha'len was.
He turned to look at Hawke, whose expression had changed to one of naked hunger as he looked at Fenris. Realizing that he was still glowing blue, Fenris released the power channeled through his vallas'elgar and let the glow fade.
"You. Hawke." He nodded toward one of the chairs in the room. "Sit down. I don't need you looming over me." He ignored the tiny voice in his head that whispered, You could order him to his knees, and he would probably thank you for it.
Hawke settled himself somewhat gingerly in an intricately carved wooden chair. Fenris took the matching one and studied his new possession. His features were regular but his small ears a large nose made him seem oddly unfinished in comparison with the elvhen. His hands were big as well, with long fingers currently twitching where they rested on his knees. And like so many male humans, he had hair on his face, though Fenris couldn't tell if it was intentional or if he just hadn't had a chance to shave in several days. Despite himself, Fenris had to admit that he was attractive in a rough sort of way.
Enough. "So tell me: aside from blood magic and fomenting rebellion, do you have any other useful skills?"
"I'm a fair cook, though I can't imagine you'll need me to do that," Hawke said. "I've been told I have a good voice, but I know it's nothing compared to elven singers."
Fenris found most elvhen music overly complex, and his limited life span meant that spending several days listening to a single composition being performed was not a good use of his time. Hawke's speaking voice was....not unpleasant, and his accent didn't grate on Fenris's sensitive ears like human renditions of the elvhen tongue normally did. It certainly wasn't what Fenris considered a useful skill, though. "Go on."
"I'm a champion at herding sheep--pretty much anything to do with wool, really--from carding to spinning and dying to knitting. Again, it's not like the stuff you get from the elven goats, but it keeps you warm in the winter. I can sew well enough to mend, but nothing fancy, my--" Hawke bit his lip and quickly said, "I can do pretty much all the other heavy lifting around a farm, though I despise chickens unless they're on a plate. Mean little buggers they are."
"But you're a mage." All of the People had at least enough magic to light a candle or heat water, but those truly gifted, like Feynriel, were rare; Fenris couldn't imaging someone with that talent doing nothing but everyday tasks.
"A renegade mage," Hawke said with a hint of bitterness, "Who spent most of my life learning to hide who I am and what I can do."
Fenris shrugged. "You could have practiced your art had you gone to the An'ethda'lanen like you were supposed to. All of this is very interesting, but of little use to me. Are you literate?"
Hawke's expression brightened a little. "Oh, yes. I can read and write--though I've been told my rendering of traditional Elven is pretty bad--and I can read and write a little Arcanum.
"And where did you learn that?" Fenris asked. Hawke squirmed.
"Danarius had some books dating back to the old Imperium. That's where he found most of the blood magic spells and rituals he used."
Fenris made a mental note to have Feynriel track down the books. The last thing we need is for another ambitious shem to get his hands on those. "Very well. One of your duties will likely be serving as my scribe. My own hand has been criticized often; I doubt your writing is worse than mine."
Hawke looked startled. "Yes? What is it?"
"I've just never heard an elf admit that a human might be better at something."
One of Fenris's eyebrows went up. "Have you encountered very many of us, then?"
"Er...no, actually. Come to think of it...this is probably the longest conversation I've ever had with an elf."
There was a soft, tentative knock on the door. Fenris looked at Hawke, then at the door, and after a brief hesitation, Hawke went to open it. A slightly built human male who looked very young--though Fenris found it impossible to judge their ages--stood holding a tray in trembling hands.
Hawke relieved the young slave of his burden. "Thank you--Seamus, right?" The boy nodded, staring between master and slave as though he couldn't decide who frightened him more, and fled, almost tripping over himself in his haste to get away.
"Have you eaten?" Fenris asked as Hawke set the tray on a table.
"Yes, Master."
"Good. I will want to bathe later; once that's been prepared I will have no further need of you--for the evening," he added quickly at Hawke's panicked look. "I trust you still wish to watch your former master pay for his crimes?"
"You have no idea," Hawke muttered, adding a bit louder, "Very much so, Master."
"You will accompany me tomorrow and you will have your chance."
Hawke smiled, and once again, Fenris wondered if the An'ethda'lanen was truly so that awful that serving a man he'd clearly loathed seemed like the better alternative. Maybe Feynriel will be able to tell me more. He turned his attention to his dinner, poking cautiously at the food before using his sticks to taste a bite. Orana must have trained the cook well, because the food was all complex, precisely balanced flavors and subtle spices, designed to appeal to the elvhen palate. In fact, it was the best meal Fenris had ever eaten outside of Arlathan.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hawke stand and head toward the bathroom, hesitating in the doorway. He cleared his throat and Fenris looked up.
"I just...thank you, Master. For not killing me. I promise I won't do anything to make you regret that."
"See that you don't," Fenris told him, "Because I can always change my mind."
Humans are very strange.
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