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Freedom Bound part 1~ Fenris pre DA2 fanfic

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~Ava is the head slave of Hadriana, the apprentice of the cruel Magister Danarius. A new slave appears in the compound and she doesn't know what to make of him. He gets special treatment and seems too gentle to be Danarius's new bodyguard. What can become of this young man with captivating eyes? What sinister plot could the magister have in store.

A story of Fenris's life before and shortly after his markings are burned on, and his eventual escape.~


Freedom Bound

Part 1
Questioning Beliefs

Ava had seen him a few times now.  Danarius's new slave.  What was his name?  Fen something.  He was only a few days into the job and she had to wonder at it.  Danarius had never been one to have a personal slave before.  Certainly he kept a lot of elves, but he hadn't allowed one into his chamber, to touch his food, his clothes, his person.  This young man was different, but she wasn't certain how.  He looked ordinary enough.  She studied him across the long, kitchen prep table where he, like she, was waiting for his master's meal to be ready.  He had the twitchy, uncontrolled air of a new slave. One who had not mastered themselves to stand still and stoic.  Ava could be a living statue when it suited her.

Fen-whatever was lean, but muscled.  A warrior.  This, at least, made sense.  Her mistress, Hadriana, had mentioned something about a challenge, or battle to prove himself worthy of being Danarius's personal slave.  Ava had no idea what this combat had entailed, but clearly this young man had been the victor.  His eyes flicked up to hers.  She inhaled, more at his folly then how incredibly, vibrantly green they were.  Eye contact, even with equals, was a habit he would need to break and fast.  One misplaced movement of those eyes, however captivating they might be, could spell a beating, if not worse.

The cook plopped something down on the tray Ava had set before her on the table.  Ava's lips tightened into a thin line.  A warning.  “What is this?”

“Eh?” the cook, a plump man with the disposition of a poorly trained dog grunted at her.

“This is not fresh,” Ava plucked at the limp leaves of lettuce in the 'salad' which was the first addition to her tray.  “My Lady will not touch this.”

“Your lady-” the cook began, but did not finish.  Even here in the kitchens wagging tongues could spell dead elves.  Few people knew of the lattice of scars which already covered the cooks back and shoulders.  He was careful to keep them to himself.

As the cook took back the pathetic salad Ava let her own gaze drift up to scrutinizing the boy.  No.  Not a boy.  Not so young.  Her age, perhaps a year younger.  He would not remember.  Ava herself had no proof of her age save what her mistress told her, and the healer's best guess judging by when she had started her monthly cycles.  Her fellow house slave was tanned, with hair as black as ink  he had cheekbones you could cut granite with.  He was handsome, in the way of elves.  All angles and eyes.  Those eyes met hers again and she clucked her tongue.  “Don't look at me, slave.”

“You are a slave as well,” his voice surprised her almost as much as his eyes.  Dominant, certain, unbroken.

“I've got seniority.  Besides, you should learn to control where you look.”

A bowl of soup was settled on Fen-whatever's tray.  He peered down at it, obviously uncertain.  He had clearly noted her disapproval of the cook's offering for her mistress and obviously wondered if the soup was suitable.

“Here,” Ava took pity on the lad.  He was new, after all.  No use getting him beaten just a few days into the job he would have for the rest of his life.  Plenty of time for beatings later.  “Grey,” she addressed the cook.  He understood without any further prompting.  He heaved a disgruntled sigh and turned to the pot ladling a spoonful of the soup out and passing it to her.  She dipped a careful pinky finger into the steaming liquid, then stuck it into her mouth, tasting expertly.  “I've served Master Danarius a few times,” she explained when the dark haired slave gave her a questioning look.  “Oh, stop meeting my eyes!  It tastes fine.  The Master will like it.”

The young man seemed to relax slightly as two thick pieces of well buttered bread were set beside the soup.  He hurriedly covered them with a clean napkin so they would stay warm.  Perhaps there was hope for him yet, Ava thought, though he did not take his eyes from hers and it rankled her no end.

Their trays laden with excellent food, Ava and the new slave left the kitchens.  They negotiated the other house slaves with the skill of dancers, protecting their trays from being bumped or knocked by clumsy cleaners and footmen.  Ava was again impressed by the newest member of their little 'family'.  Fen-whats-it managed to follow the path she carved through the crowded rooms to the stairs which led up to the servants' rooms, and then the lavish house proper.  Well, she supposed, he was a warrior, and weren't they supposed to be graceful?  This man treated his tray as though it were made of glass.  Good.

They spoke not at all until they were clear of the obstacle course of elves crowded into the lowest section of the house.  The kitchen was kept there so the rising heat from the sweltering room could help keep the main house warm in the cooler seasons, though Tevinter weather was never more than chilly at its worst.

“Thank you.”

Ava looked up, already berating herself for doing so.  Eyes.  Always eyes with her.  Truth be told she was as bad as this new slave, and she knew better, dammit.  “For?”

“Helping with dinner,” he said.  His voice was quiet, respectful of the big house.

“You're welcome,” she answered.  “I did little.”  Now was her chance to sate her curiosity, “you're Magister Danarius's new personal slave?”

“Yes.”

“Prestigious.”

“Perhaps.”

“I heard you won the position?”

He did not answer.  Why had he gone all tight-lipped?  Moments before he had been thanking her openly.  This time she kept her face down, her own dark brown eyes focused on the floor and her tray as she spoke, “be careful.  He's a hard man.  Know your place.  A misstep will earn you pain.”

“I know,” he said.  His jaw was tight.  She could hear it in his voice.  Had he already made a mistake?  Already taken a punishment?  No.  He didn't walk with the gait of one Danarius had disciplined.  The Magister liked those he punished to show their pain and their scars.  As did his twisted apprentice, Ava's mistress, Hadriana.  Ava pulled her lower lip into her mouth, feeling the edge of the long scar that began at her lip and ran up her cheek to her ear.  A punishment for looking at her mistress.  Hadriana hated to see Ava's face. She learned to keep her head down, to find her shoes fascinating.  She had every carpet in her lady's rooms memorized.  She wished she was allowed to grow her hair longer.  She found she envied the new elf's fringe of dark hair which could obscure his eyes if it suited him.  Hariana didn't like her slaves to have long hair, and it did give the volatile woman less to grab and tug when she was angry, Ava supposed.

Ava stopped walking, turning towards the elegantly decorated door to her mistress' quarters.  She glanced back at the young man, who hesitated, knowing he had to carry on to Danarius's extensive rooms.  She give him the quickest of nods, just a little encouragement.  “I'm Ava,” she said, as an afterthought, so quietly she was certain he hadn't heard her properly.

“Fenris,”

She watched him move on down the hall, bare feet making little sound against the plush carpeting.  She hoped he would survive.  Danarius wasn't merely a hard man to work for.  He was a sadist.  He routinely erased the memories of his slaves, to keep them from getting ideas about escaping his harsh grasp.  Ava had not had her memory wiped.  She suspected that Hadriana wanted her to cling to whatever sad past she had, to make her more miserable.  Ava wrapped her knuckle gently against the door, expertly balancing the tray on one hand.

“Enter,” her mistress called.

With practiced, artful motions Ava slid into the room on silent feet.  She crossed to her lady's table and set out the dinner.  Each dish perfectly placed.  As she worked her kept her eyes cast fervently down, tracking the apprentice magister's motions with her ears.  “Have you met Danarius's newest slave yet?” the woman purred, coming to take her seat and scrutinize the food.

“Yes,” Ava always kept her answers simple.  Hadriana hated 'mouthy slaves'.

“He's good looking, isn't he?”

Ava was caught off guard by this.  Her mind grappled rapidly for something, anything she could answer that would not get her slapped.  Now she had hesitated too long.  She braced for Hadriana's slim hand to crash across her jaw.  It didn't come.

“I said, isn't he handsome?” Hadriana pressed.

How to answer?  If she said 'no' she would be seen as belittling her mistress's taste in men.  If she said 'yes' Hadriana would berate her for looking at a man.  Especially one that she herself might fancy.  The apprentice seldom slept without a male slave in her bed 'to keep her warm'.  She might already have her eye on Danarius' new pet.

Cold fingers grabbed Ava's jaw, forcing her face up.  The slave struggled to look anywhere but into her mistress's ice blue eyes.  She settled for Hadriana's left ear.  Her mistress's finger nails dug into Ava's cheeks as she squeezed too tightly.  Then the cruel woman smiled.  Her thin lips twisting.  “No.  You don't have any idea, do you.  Like a good little pet, I bet you didn't even look at him.  Idiot.” she tossed Ava to the floor.  Upon impact with the carpet Ava sprang up at once.  Hadriana hated her to 'wallow'.  The faster she stood, the less chance there would be further humiliations.

To Ava's immense relief, it seemed that fantasizing about her teacher's newest slave had put Hadriana in a good mood.  She was ignoring Ava now, already tucking into her salad.  Ava winced inwardly.  Poor Fenris would have no idea that he was not only expected to serve Danarius in whatever way was asked, but also Hadriana.

The night wore on.  Hadriana liked Ava to stay awake with her as long as possible.  In case she needed something, was the claim.  She brushed her lady's hair until it shone, then rubbed in sweet smelling oils.  She arranged her lady's night clothes and then her clothes for the next day.  Lavish mages' robes which looked gaudy on the hanger, and more than a little ridiculous on a human being, but Hadriana didn't want anyone to miss the fact that she was the student of the most celebrated Magister around.  She had money, power, and training, and everyone hated her for it.  Ava heard the scorn in people's voices at parties and other social gatherings.  Still, she thought as she artfully arranged amulets and enchanted rings, Hadriana didn't help by lording it over everyone.

Finally the male slave arrived, clad only in small clothes to show off a lean, hard muscled form.  He briefly met Ava's gaze.  He was a friend of hers, and a favorite of her mistress.  On her way out of the room she brushed the back of her hand against his, for reassurance.

Then, finally off duty, at least until Hadriana rang for her in the middle of the night with some pointless task, Ava retreated to her tiny quarters in the slave compound below the house.  As a personal slave Ava was allowed her own room.  Well, room of sorts.  Two wooden pallets set against a wall with a curtain for a door was hardly a room, but Ava knew better than to complain.

She picked her way past the slumbering forms of her fellows, all spread out across the floor, or jumbled together in little heaps.  She never had much desire to join these, herself.  She pushed aside her 'curtain' and tumbled onto the straw pallet and wool blanket she called her bed.  It was better than most had claim to, and fell asleep almost at once.


“So you're the Master's newest slave are you?”  Ava shot the speaker, Solomon, a warning look which he ignored.  “personal slave, from what I hear.”

“Yes,” said Fenris quietly, looking shyly around at the faces of his new fellows.  He was eating breakfast with them for the first time since he had come.  “The Master has been training me.”

“Ooooo, la dee da,” another of the slaves, Marric, waggled his hands.  “Look at the special one over here.”

“Hush up,” Ava scolded.  Sol was the eldest slave in the compound, so he could get away with his line of questioning.  Marric on the other hand was just too big for his britches.

“Are you worried, Ava?” The youngest slave was called Ben and he was no more than a child.  He slid in to sit beside Ava, settling his little bowl of gruel beside hers.  She casually spooned some of her own  into his dish, as she did every morning.

“Worried about what?” Fenris asked, taking a bite of the grey mush which was his breakfast.  He had to choke it down with a swig of water.

“It's like paste, isn't it?” giggled Hetta, a kitchen slave.  Many of the kitchen workers were hired, for pitiful wages, rather than enslaved.  The house was run by a mixture of slave work and servants.  All elves.  Danarius and Hadriana did not like human slaves.  “Try some of this,” Hetta offered Fenris a little jar of what looked like snot.  “Fish oil.”  Everyone at the table grimaced and made disgusted noises.  “What?” Hetta wrinkled her nose, “it's healthy and it adds flavor.”  She poured a little of the stuff into her own porridge and mixed it in, grinning.

“Well, I'm off my feed for the week,” grumbled Sol, scooting his bowl away.  A moment later he retrieved it.  None of them would waste food.  Meals were sparing and no one remembered what it was to feel full.

Ava watched Fenris eat.  Though he obviously found the mash is unpalatable as the rest of them, he doggedly put full spoonfuls into his mouth.  He understood the value of the food, no matter how nasty.  She had to give him that.  He was already a scrawny fellow, though there was tight muscle rippling under the surface of his tanned skin.  She wondered if he would be given a portion of meat, just to keep him fighting fit.

“So, you never answered my question,” Ben nudged Ava with his pointy little elbow.  “Are you worried now that Fenris is going to be in charge?”

“I'm what?” Fenris looked up, alarmed.

Ava made a tutting noise with her tongue, “He's not in charge.  I still am.”  She looked to the confused Fenris.  “Around here, the slave with the most status is unofficially the leader in the slave barracks,” she gestured around herself to the big, windowless room in which they ate, slept and spent what little leisure time they might scrape together.  “Before you came along, I had the highest standing, as personal slave to Mistress Hadriana.”

“But you're The Master's personal slave,” Ben wiped his lips with his grubby sleeve.  “So you're higher up than Ava.”

“I have no desire to be in charge,” Fenris said tightly.  He looked from face to face with obvious unease.

“There, you see,” Ava amiled.  Inwardly she exhaled a sigh of relief.  If this young upstart had felt it his right to come in and start giving his new fellow slaves orders she didn't know what she might have done.  It was a wonder anyone listened to her to begin with.  If he had started putting on airs he might have gotten himself pounced and given a 'proper welcome' with fists and clubs.

“Why doesn't The Master have me stay in his room?” Asked Fenris, startling Ava from her reverie.

Several of the other slaves laughed around mouthfuls of soggy porridge.  “Because you're a filthy, unworthy elf.”

“Oh,” Fenris said, though he still seemed a little confused.

“Did your old master keep you in his room?” Ben asked, scooting towards Fenris.  The little boy had finished his porridge and now had eyes for everyone else's.  Fenris noted the child's advances and moved his hand so that little Ben could help himself from Fenris' bowl.

“I can't remember my old master,” Fenris explained, looking a little ashamed.

“Memory wipe,” Sol surmised, his tone kind, “it's alright, lad.  The Master does like to do that with some of his slaves.  Thinks it keeps them loyal.”

“Hadriana doesn't?” Fenris asked.  There was a collective gasp from around the table.  Even slaves who Ava had thought were not listening looked up, eyes wide in sunken faces.

“Never use her name alone!” Ava snapped, perhaps a bit too harshly.  “She is Mistress Hadriana, or The Mistress.  Do you understand?”

Fenris looked down at what remained of his breakfast, which was fast vanishing down little Ben's gullet.  “Yes.”

“She's just trying to save you a beating, lad,” Sol explained.  He pulled down the shoulder of his tattered shirt to reveal a lattice work of deep scar tissue.  Years of scarring piled atop older, faded wounds.  “They don't just whip you either.  They use magic.”

“Oh,” Fenris winced as he took in the scars.

“Didn't your old master beat you?” Ben asked.  Ava could picture Ben's small back, caked with blood and bruised.  Even he had not managed to evade his first beating not long ago.

“I see a few marks on his arms,” Marric pointed out, scrutinizing Fenris.  The newest slave looked highly uncomfortable.  “I expect those are from fighting.  Maybe he wasn't even a slave before this.”

“Not a slave before?” Hetta looked skeptical.  “Why on earth would The Master buy someone so green?”

Ava puzzled at this as she watched Fenris.  He leaned away from Marric, who had stuck his face right up to Fenris' shoulder, still looking for more scars.  Not a slave before?  A warrior instead?  Fenris was respectful, even gentle, from what she had seen.  What possible intent could Danarius have with the young man?  Certainly it could not be that he merely needed a house slave.  What had Fenris done to obtain the coveted position as personal slave to The Master?  Had he killed someone?  She'd heard of this before.  Slaves murdering their fellows so they might have better chances of status or good masters.  Fenris' pine green eyes flicked up to hers and held there.  “Eyes,” she scolded, though very softly.  He must not have heard because he kept his gaze fixed on her, as though trying to read her mind.



“The Master told me yesterday that he is going to have my help in a magical ritual.”

Fenris was leaning towards Ava, just fractionally.  His lips barely moving as he spoke.  The pair stood against the wall, well back from where their master and mistress were seated at dinner.  The dining hall was lavish, the party well under way.  Magisters chattered and argued.  Every now and then a bit of magic would flare up, even though it was considered bad form to cast at the dinner table.  Fenris was the only slave who did not flinch at these little displays.  Each slave present, standing dutifully as Ava and Fenris were, had had magic used against them.  All save Fenris.

“A ritual?” Ava bit her tongue as soon as she had answered.  He was drawing her into talking again.  He often did that, though she had no idea how.  When they walked together with whatever meal they might be bringing their masters, he only had to say a few words and suddenly she was all chatter.  However, what he had just told her made her skin prickle.  She risked being caught conversing but it wasn't much of a danger here.  The party was loud, the slaves ignored.  Some, at the other side of the room, were opening talking to one another.  Their masters must have been so lax, she thought with annoyance.

“He didn't tell me what the ritual was, only that it would make me more powerful.  He claims that I am to be trained as his bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard?” Ava raised an eyebrow.  Danarius had never expressed the need for protection before.

“Mmmhmm,” Fenris affirmed, still not leaning more than an inch towards her.

“Fenris, that doesn't sound good to me.  None of us have ever been used in rituals before.”

“He said it will be a great honor.  That he will be the envy of every Magister in Tevinter with me at his side.”

Ava felt a hollow pit forming in her gut.  Like someone had scooped a piece of her away and left cold air.  This wasn't good, whatever it meant.  She wished she could turn to him, ask for more details.  Hell, shake his shoulders and make him understand that whatever Danarius had in mind for him, it was anything but glorious.  “Do you know when?”

“In a few days time,” Fenris whispered back.  “He said he has much to prepare.  He needs more lyrium to be shipped.”

“More?” Ava inhaled.  Marric was one of the two slaves charged with the keeping of the lyrium stores.  He had never once mentioned the supplies being low.  He had always reported an overabundance of the stuff.  Once he had even splashed some on his skin.  He was burned and hallucinating by the time he made it to the kitchen and help.

“That's what he said,” Fenris affirmed.

The meal was brought in then.  Well dressed staff carried elegant plates of extravagant food.  This was every slaves' favorite part, and the most frightening.  Far more than being surrounded by all these people who could melt your face off with the twitch of a finger.  Each plate was held before a slave.  Ava looked down at what was before her.  Hadriana's portion.  A roasted quail nested in soft, peeled potatoes and a bed of greens and vegetables.  A little bowl of reddish jelly sat beside the wonderful smelling meat.  Using the special fork she was given (to be touched by slaves only) Ava carefully selected a mouthful of meat, seeing Fenris doing the same out of the corner of her eye.

She placed the succulent bite on her tongue, savoring, but trying very hard not to look like she was doing so.  The magisters were still ignoring them,  Chattering away loudly.  A new fork was given to her and Ava tried a tiny bite of potato, then the vegetables, and finally the red dressing.  This finished the meal was taken and placed before Hadriana.  Then all the slaves stood still, watchful, waiting for someone to drop dead.

Someone did.

Across the room one of the slaves grabbed her throat, letting out a bubbling gurgle as she collapsed to the ground.  A general murmur went up as servants rushed in to remove the dead slave, and to take away the offending meal.  The woman for whom the poison had been intended lifted her nose in obvious scorn.  “That slave was expensive.  I certainly hope that little 'gift' was not from one of you.”

All the magisters raised their hands, placating.  Some of them laughing.  “No no, madam Reddic.”  “We would never, Madam Reddic.”  “You are well respected.”  “Such a shame!”

A new portion was brought out for madam.  “I need to borrow someone's slave to test it, as my own is...useless now.”

Ava flinched when Hadriana snapped her fingers sharply.  “You may use mine, of course.”  Ava knew this was far from an act of kindness on her Mistress' part.  Hadriana was always grubbing for status or attention.  If she offered her slave to this important magister she might gain some approval from the room.  Indeed, even as Ava stepped away from the wall to cross the room, magisters were already nodding approvingly.

“No,” Hissed Fenris.  Ava stared as she felt his fingertips brush her wrist.

Ava felt her insides clench, for though he had been quiet, everyone had seen this gesture.  She walked on as though her friend had not moved to stay her, but she knew it would do little good.  Would Danarius take Fenris out into the hall for punishment, or do it right there in front of everyone?  She waited for the sound of a blow.  The gasp of pain.  Nothing.  She didn't dare look back as she rounded the table, but she heard someone chuckle.  “Soft hearted for a bodyguard, isn't he?” a woman asked, a smirk clear in her voice.

Ava expected magic to flare.  Fire to light in Danarius' hands.  It wasn't as though he was renowned for keeping his temper.  In these circles he was a big fish.  It was foolish of whoever had mocked him choice in slaves to speak up at all.  Still there was no retaliation.  She felt a shiver go down her spine.  What was it about Fenris that curbed their master's volatile nature.  When she turned back to face the table, ready to try the food that was placed before her she flicked a glance at the Magister she knew and feared.  He had a placid smile on his face.  This might have fooled everyone else, but Ava knew that glint in his eyes.  Like a fox that knows his way into the hen coop, but is biding its time until nightfall.

She tasted the food, her stomach tight with each mouthful, but her airway did not close up.  Her lungs remained clear and her muscles didn't seize.  Whoever had poisoned the first meal had failed on the second.  Still, she knew as she walked back to her side of the table to stand behind Hadriana once more,  people in the kitchen would die that night.  She tried not to think about it and merely be glad that the party was not being held at Danarius's house.

~~~~~

“You've been quiet.”

“I'm always quiet,” Ava said, annoyed.  There was Fenris and his wheedling into her silence again.

The pair rode on the back of Danarius's carriage, their feet dangling over the well paved street.  Fenris had to maintain a slightly awkward position as he wore an immense sword on his back.  He was required to wear it, he had explained, when he was out with the Master.  Ava idly wondered if he could even swing the mammoth blade.  It looked about as heavy as she was.  Heavier perhaps.  She wasn't well fed.

“I'm confused,” she confessed.  “Master Danarius would have struck any other slave for speaking out the way you did.”

“I'm sorry,” Fenris mumbled, eyes downcast.  “Will Hadriana punish you later?”

“She very well may,” Ava answered tightly.  “I had been trying not to think of that, thank you.”  Fenris bit his lip as though struggling not to say anything more.  He looked a little like a kicked puppy.  Not like the fearsome warrior he was supposed to be.  Ava tutted with annoyance, but gave in to those eyes of his.  “At first I thought The Master was treating you special because he wanted the rest of us to hate you, or be suspicious of you.”

“Why?” he raised a thick eyebrow.

“Masters do it sometimes, to keep the slaves from becoming friends, and united, possibly against them.  They treat one slave more gently so the others grow jealous and conspire against him instead of their Masters.”

“But you don't think that's what he's doing with me?” Fenris asked, trying to adjust his position to be mildly more comfortable after the carriage jostled over a bump.

“No,” Ava chewed a hangnail as she pondered.  “There was no one but me to see how he treated you at the party, and all those Magisters, his peers, watching.  Even the most dedicated would have struck you.”

Fenris was quiet for a long moment.  “So what do you think it was?”

“I have no idea, but this is Master Danarius, so it can't be good.”

The carriage rattled to a stop and the pair hurried to assist their masters down.  Their conversation for the evening was ended.

Later Hadriana froze the tips of Ava's ears because she didn't like the way she and Fenris were “getting too friendly”.

Ok, what the hell am I doing? No seriously? Why am I writing this drabble instead of working on editing Old Gods, or any of the other writing projects that I have in the works? because I started, and then I felt like I had to finish. Ugh. It was originally going to be one chapter, maybe two. Instead we have three. I don't know what's wrong with me. Send help.

I wish I could say I wrote this out quickly and carried on, but of course I felt like I needed to do it justice even though it is the fanfic equivalent of junk food (for me). This is my cotton candy. My fanfic sweet tooth. As such this story might not suit everyone. I just wanted to write a story of Fenris before he met Hawke that wasn't about him having sex with Danarius.

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