Chapter Text
The thick carpet left angry red dimples in his knees as he lifted them one at a time as subtly as he could without drawing Danarius's attention. He would have been beaten or worse for calling him by his name out loud, but Anders refused to call him Master within his own head. A week or two of receiving lashes to his back should have been enough to teach him that lesson, but he'd suffered much, much worse in Ferelden. After all, what were beatings on his back compared to facing down mutated darkspawn and broodmothers in the Deep Roads? How did corporal punishment even measure up to the year he'd spent in solitary confinement, slowly going mad, listening to the demons call to him from the Fade? All he'd have to do would be to reach out, accept the offer, and he'd be free. He'd seen worse and had experienced the most awful things that Thedas had to offer a mage and a Grey Warden. This was nothing in comparison.
No, the hardest part of this was not being able to feel Justice. The spirit was there, he knew it. He was still alive. Justice was still a part of him, but inaccessible for now. Danarius, a mage (and how Anders hated to acknowledge that fact), quickly realized he wouldn't bend to traditional slave training. He seemed to understand that he wouldn't break Anders by physical punishment alone. That cutting him off from what was essentially another limb would teach him much more quickly than anything else. Three weeks of punishments like that, being choked and separated from his magic, and he relented, if only to be able to cling to the bit he was allowed when he 'behaved.' It was more effective than the crude methods used on the other slaves. Hit them enough until they stop biting back. And the slaves that Danarius kept were easily cowed. He barely had to raise a hand and they were jumping at his every command. They were all simpering, scraping cowards.
The silver bracelets Anders was forced to wear dampened his powers. He could still cast, but Danarius somehow could adjust their potency. It was nice to be able to access his magic, only now it felt like he was an apprentice again, unable to control even the most basic spells. Unable to access the fury of the spirit inside him. If he could just reach Justice, he knew he'd be able to escape this. Justice would simply tear Danarius limb from limb. But Tevinter was not like any other part of Thedas Anders had ever visited. Danarius seemed to understand what was inside him, to sense Justice somehow, and suppress him with his magic in the cuffs.
Anders flexed his fingers against his thighs, which were clad in tight leather short pants. They were only one step above humiliation from being naked. But Anders had been caught naked many times before, and found he vastly preferred those situations to this one. Rutting with Karl on the First Enchanter's bed, having to explain himself while holding a pillow in front of his crotch while Irving merely stood with his forehead cradled in his palm. He started to smirk at the memory and then stopped. Though Danarius was deep in conversation with another man – another magister – who sat on the couch opposite, he would be watching for any signs of disobedience and punish him.
Danarius raised a hand, signaling for more wine. His bodyguard lifted the bottle. Anders watched Fenris carefully through his eyelashes, not raising his head fully lest Danarius notice. Fenris was short even for an elf, and thin, but wiry. But it was the lyrium burned into his skin that made his appearance so striking. Swirling lines of whitish silver that would look almost beautiful if they were vallaslin instead of lyrium. He remembered seeing the elf for the first time, who was an anomaly even in Tevinter. An experiment. Someone who'd actually survived the branding. Apparently it was a relatively new and extremely rare practice and lucky Fenris was chosen for it. He was there with Danarius when Anders was put up on the block for sale.
"This one's a mage, and very pretty."
Anders ripped his chin from the greasy slaver's hands, struggling against the iron chains. He wasn't in a cage like the others, like so many Fereldans like him who were just trying to escape the Blight. But his hands were bound and they'd placed a collar around his neck that achieved the same effect as a Templar's cleanse.
"Hm. I suppose he could be considered… pretty. Like a caged bird." Danarius looked him over, then negotiated a price before taking his leash and handing it to the elf next to him.
The lyrium sang inside Anders' brain and despite himself, he walked closely to the elf, the markings calling to him. He wanted his magic back, wanted to feel Justice again. Wanted to rip the head off of the man who was looking over other Fereldans – other people - like he was picking out a new set of flatware for his dining table.
"Do not try to run," the elf whispered to him, in a deep, deadened voice. "It will only be worse when he catches you."
Anders would've replied, but the leather strap that was cutting into the corners of his mouth prevented him from responding beyond a few gurgles. What he wanted to say was, 'Fuck you, you might have accepted your fate as a slave but I won't.'
Fenris poured the wine, face impassive as the other magister eyed him warily. Then he returned to Danarius's other side, but remained standing. Only Anders had to kneel. It was a game for Danarius, to show his fellow magisters that he kept a mage chained. Anders had been forced to prove his magical ability, and even with the bracelets he was impressive. Without them… well, he would drag the whole damn city down with him.
"I doubt the Qunari would dare come so far south to Alam," Danarius said, switching to the common speech.
Most of his business was conducted in Tevene, a language from which Anders barely spoke five words. Which was all well and good. It was easier to focus on his own thoughts and plans of escape without having to listen to Danarius prattle on about whatever passed for a form of government here in Tevinter.
"It is true," the other magister said in halting words. His accent was very thick and his grasp on the language was minimal, but he was making a show of it, trying to impress Danarius with his knowledge.
Danarius saw through it. Of course he did. He wasn't stupid. Cruel and horrible and Anders wanted to wipe the smirk off his face with a fireball. But he was horribly intelligent. Which made his situation all the more dire. The Templars were stupid. Knight Commander Greagoir was trusting. Escaping was a joke. He'd managed it so many times, he wondered if they were even trying anymore in the end. He tried to view his situation as a new challenge. A new lock to undo, a new tower from which to escape.
And the magister was standing, leaving. Anders had missed the end of the conversation. He didn't care. Tevinter politics, Qunari invasions. It meant nothing to him in the grand scope. He needed to focus on getting out. Without removing the bracelets first though, it would be impossible. The only thing for it was to try to learn what they were made of and figure out how to break them. Then with his power and Justice's, he was sure he could overpower Danarius.
But what about Fenris?
He glanced fully at the elf this time, who was refilling Danarius's drink before setting the bottle down. He was allowed proper pants and shirt, both black, though the shirt's neckline plunged in a V down to his stomach, no doubt to reveal more of those tattoos. At his side, a leather scabbard and blade. He hardly spoke, and never in front of Danarius's guests. For intimidation purposes, Anders supposed. He wasn't intimidated by the elf, but he had seen him move, how quick he could be with the sword, cutting down someone two days prior in the main hall. Anders hadn't known the man's offense, but watching from the balcony, kneeling next to Danarius, he'd been impressed by Fenris's skill. It might be tricky to get past him, and Anders definitely wouldn't be able to escape unscathed. But pain was a burden he'd gladly shoulder for his freedom.
"My little wolf," Danarius murmured, reaching up.
Fenris knelt now in front of Danarius, unhooking his belt and dropping his sword carefully at his side. Anders flinched. He hated this part of the night. The first time he'd seen it done, he tried to leave, only to be brought down by a jolt of lightning that Danarius had almost casually thrown his way. The next time, he was forced to watch. It was better he realized, to kneel quietly, try not to listen, and wait. The shuffling of fabric, the soft grunting as Danarius resettled, the contented sigh, and the wet sounds of sucking as Fenris pleasured him. Danarius wasn't a dramatic man; he didn't flail around or make a lot of noise. In fact, Anders wondered if the man even cared about the pleasure or if it was just another act of dominance over his slaves.
A hand came down to rest in his hair and he pulled away instinctively. A second later he fell to the ground as his body racked in pain. Not electricity this time, just sharp stabs up his spine and down his limbs. He curled up into himself, jaw clenched tightly. Though it only lasted a second or two, it felt like hours, and the residual effect left him sore and panting. Fenris had not stopped the motion of his head, and Danarius's hand was buried in the elf's white hair. His eyes, however, were leveled at Anders. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the spot next to the chair. With considerable effort, Anders moved to kneel next to him again. He tasted the bile that rose in his throat as Danarius reached out again, petting his hair.
Anders closed his eyes, fists clenching, muscles tightening. It was warm in the room and he felt his nausea increase as Fenris continued enthusiastically, lapping at Danarius's cock. Danarius purred something in Tevene, a word of encouragement probably. Fenris lowered his head, and Anders tried to look away.
Danarius yanked his head back around. "Watch," he ordered.
Anders watched. The elf had swallowed Danarius's erection to the hilt, nose buried in dark grey pubic hair. He was taking shallow breaths, eyes closed, waiting. Though Anders was likely the furthest thing from a prude, it was hard to watch. Or perhaps Fenris liked it. But if he did, Anders knew it was simply a conditioned response. A symptom of the disease of slavery. He thought of the scared apprentices in the Circle, those who'd do anything to avoid being roughed up by Templars. Bowing and scraping, meant to serve man, not rule over him. He'd seen that extreme of mage oppression, and here was the mirror reflection of it. Neither Chantry seemed to be able to get it right.
Danarius gave an order, and Fenris continued, pulling back, sucking, cheeks hollowing before nearly releasing him. His tongue flicked out and around the head, and Anders heard Danarius exhale heavily. Another command in Tevene, and Fenris finally lifted a hand, wrapping it around the shaft, moving it in unison with his head. Anders was no stranger to giving or receiving oral sex. Maker knew there were only so many ways to amuse oneself in the tower outside of lessons and he'd gotten quite good at it all. But Fenris, he could tell, was trained for something like this. A fighter and a whore, something that Danarius apparently required of this particular slave.
Let him try it with me, Anders thought. I'll bite it clean off.
But in just over a month of being Danarius's slave - captive he reminded himself – he hadn't been called upon to perform any sexual acts. In fact, Danarius seemed content to simply have him by his side, kneeling next to him during mealtimes or meetings. To sit at his feet while Danarius read to him and Fenris. It was a disgusting mockery of family in a way. Danarius pretending to be a father to them, reading them bedtime stories. He wondered if Fenris realized how demeaning it was. And then he wondered if Fenris was even able to care anymore.
Danarius went still a moment, the hand on Anders's head stopped stroking and the one in Fenris's clenched. Anders saw the barest of flinches on Fenris's face before it was gone in a second. He watched Fenris suck and swallow Danarius's come, licking his lips as he was allowed to pull back. Danarius handed him a cloth and Fenris cleaned the saliva from his softening cock before carefully resettling his robes, tying them closed and buckling the silver belt. Anders still dared not to look away, and instead he found himself watching Fenris. The elf's face was impassive, though he was breathing a bit heavily, his lips swollen and glistening. He remained kneeling.
"Tonight, little wolf, I want you to teach our newest pet the tricks you know so well. I want him ready before we leave for Minrathous and the Satinalia celebration."
"Yes, Master."
The response was immediate and without emotion. Anders swallowed hard, nails digging into his leather pants. Almost five weeks and he'd only been touched by Danarius, and most of that had been to receive a beating, to be cut and bled, or to be petted like a dog. As degrading and painful as it was, it was tolerable for now. Another hardship he had to endure on his way to freedom. He wasn't planning on being around for the Satinalia celebration, so he would definitely be refusing to learn these 'tricks' Danarius was hoping that Fenris would teach him.
"Take him to your room."
"Yes, Master."
Danarius took up his wine glass and a book, settling back in the large armchair. Fenris looked at Anders, who wasn't sure what to do next. Danarius usually instructed him when to come or when to go and when to stay. He learned that even the smallest transgression meant heavier restrictions on his magic, or instant pain. His proverbial leash had never been given to another in the time he'd been a prisoner in Danarius's estate. At night, he slept in a room no bigger than a closet. Being mostly cut off from the Fade when he dreamt wasn't the break from the demons and spirits he'd often wondered about. It was terrifying. As horrible as it was sometimes in the Fade, it could almost be downright pleasant some nights. Cutting him off from the Fade only served to increase the dreams about the darkspawn, horrific visions increasing as the nightmares grew steadily worse.
He needed to escape sooner than later before he was no longer able to hold onto his own mind. He missed his magic, he missed the thrum of the Fade. But more than anything, he found himself missing Justice. Though the spirit could be insufferable at times, he'd been a great boon to Anders. He was focused - if a bit too much - and with him, Anders' power had increased tenfold. Which was why it was so irritating that he'd been caught and sold in the first place. He'd been too trusting. The woman who offered him sanctuary was too friendly. He saw it now, but hindsight wouldn't help his current situation.
Fenris gestured for him to stand. Anders waited a full ten seconds before getting to his feet. He could reach out and punch the elf in the face. After all, his hands were free aside from those stupid bracelets. And Maker knew he tried to remove them. They were too tight on his wrists to slip off and no amount of his own magic could remove them. But he didn't need magic to exact physical harm on another. In a lot of situations, it was all he needed. The taint in his blood gave him extra speed and strength and the elf had left his sword on the ground. After knocking him flat, he could likely overpower Danarius, or distract him long enough to take up Fenris's sword.
Or Danarius would simply strike him down where he stood. As desperate as his situation was, it was preferable to death for the moment. And he would be gone from this place long before he was begging for death. A year in solitary in the Circle didn't break him, and neither would being treated like some pet. But one thing was for damn sure, he thought as he finally followed Fenris out. He would not become Danarius's whore.