#rahlen

Full list of the chapters below!

Ships to Wreck

Happens immediately prior to In Glory & Gore. The Prince of Ferelden is shipwrecked and rescued by an unlikely saviour.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

What a Mess NSFW - Not cannon

 In Glory & Gore

Featuring Rahlen Theirin, Hanin Lavellan, Athim, Fenlin, the next generation of heroes find themselves fighting for their lives in Tevinter, both in the gladiator ring and out of it.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Interim

Mirages NSFW

Chapter 4

Comforts NSFW

Chapter 5 - Part1, Part 2

Parallels

Chapter 6 - Part 1, Part 2

Night of the Dragon NSFW

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 - Coming soon

Set between chapter 6 and 7 of Glory & Gore.

The dragon might have worn the shape of a man with arms and legs, but Fenlin could see the smoke that curled from his nostrils and mouth. It kissed her skin as he pressed her back into the cushions, his hands --talons?-- tearing away the sheer silks that remained of her dress. Fingertips or talons, he left fire on her skin, burning her in a way she'd never once thought possible.

Air rushed from her lungs as he pressed onto her, the thick heat of him aready pressing against her belly, hotter still than the breath he spilled out onto her neck. His touch slipped up along her thighs, dipping inside to run along her and determine if she needed him as much as he needed her. Even if there had been no magic at work, the thud of her heart in her chest and the fire in her blood told Fenlin that she would be putty in this dragon's hands. Regardless of any Tevinter influence.

He growled, pleased to find her so slick from the ceremony. His strength was supernatural, and he rolled her onto her belly, scooping her hips up and back to press against his. The heat of his cock brushed against her belly and Fenlin shivered, a silent moan hidden by the mask strapped to her face.

She could feel his fire-breath over her shoulders, her neck, and then the thickness of him pressed against her. She was no innocent by now, but this was different somehow. She bit her lip, a silent whimper unheard as the thick tip of Dumat spread her open. He didn't allow her the luxury of time to adjust, however. Strong arms pulled her back against his chest, pulling her down onto him as he pressed his hips up, sinking slowly into her until Fenlin was sure that there was just no more room.

How could a mortal hope to ever contain a dragon? The groan of pleased pride against her ear was nearly lost in the sensation of being filled completely, of feeling a pulse not her own thrumming through her veins.

"Mine," he groaned into her ear, and Fenlin tilted her head back, sucking in a sharp breath as he pulled out of her only to thrust right back in. Her hands betrayed her, just as her heart and body was, as they reached back to cup the nape of Dumat's neck, and grip the arm that held onto her hip, moving her on him.

If the acolytes of Dumat's cult were still watching, still chanting, Fenlin no longer noticed. Her blood and heartbeat were the drums of their music, the groans of Dumat into her ear the wordless chant that drove them both forward. He was far from the only one struggling for air, for sanity, but Fenlin's voice was twice stolen. Once by the healing spirit, then again by the dragon that had buried himself within her.

His spare hand slipped down, finding the small nub of flesh that sent electricity through her entire body. Her nails dug into his skin and her breath grew ragged. Dumat was determined to embarrass her in front of his congregation, it seemed, but what could Fenlin do but hold on as he brought her to the very edge of pleasure, his thick cock buried inside of her, while one hand held her tight against his hips and the other rolled her button between a finger and thumb.

She crested with numbed lips and tingling fingers, a half apology on her lips, half prayer to her new god who mercilessly urged her through the climax around him. Somehow, through the starbursts of pins and needles, she felt his hips twitch and a heat fill her.

But neither sensation was allowed to last before a strong hand pressed the middle of her back down, forcing her chest and cheek into the cushioned dias where they fucked. Blinking, Fenlin saw dark figures cloaked and chanting swim in front of her eyes, but the Dragon was relentless. Still within her, she felt his sharp teeth on the back of her neck, his growls sending shivers down her spine to where he was still buried within her, still hard. Still hot as the sun itself.

Mythal help her, Fenlin rolled her hips back onto him, shuddering as she felt the tip of him nudge deeper still, against the very end of her, and pressing still to an almost painful degree as he placed first one hand then the other beyond her shoulders.

"Again," he commanded, and she was helpless, complying immediately. Her hips rolled back onto him again and again, beginning a lazy rhythm that would never be allowed to last.

His mask was gone, she realised, spotting it on the flagstones beyond the dias. But she still felt the heat of his fire breath, the sharpness of his teeth on her neck and ear and shoulder. This was no man, this was Dumat himself, the Old god, returned to fuck her until she was nothing left but a puddle of elf and sex.

They continued through the night, every time she thought there was a reprieve, Dumat found a way to surprise her. When he finally grew soft, she flopped onto her back, gasping for breath. Her mask was long torn off so her lips could be claimed just as her puss had been. His musk was still strong on her tongue as he pressed his lips to hers, his fingers pressing into her so that she would not want for even a moment.

Shuddering, she mewled silent nothings into his mouth, feeling his fingers press his come back into her, using it to keep her slick as though he hadn't been enough to keep her seeing starbursts time after time. And yet, they should have been exhausted long ago, laying onto the cushions to catch their breath and rest aching muscles.

Something, be it magic or drugged water, kept her slick and pliant, begging her dragon for more.

Polonius, the cultists, had said she would be devoured tonight, but so far the dragon had been intent on pleasing her, ensuring that for every wet heat climax he unleashed into her, she shuddered and called upon slumbering gods with silent words.

She was dazed, barely able to think as her head lolled back onto the cushions to see the sky turning gold. Dawn?

Her dragon was behind her, holding her back to his chest as he thrust into her. Whatever seed he had left would soon empty into her, though she was overflowing with him by now. Her tongue still tasted him, her lips ached from his hungry kisses, and her belly throbbed from his attention and single-minded desire.

"Mine," he groaned into her ear, his hand slipping up to cup her breast. Every nerve fucked raw, Fenlin shuddered, whimpering as yet another roll of pleasure overtook her. Whispered words somehow made their way past her lips, her finger tips digging into his arm, his scalp as her body welcome one last flood of lust.

Blinking, the fog of the night finally clearing, she looked over her shoulder, and gasped.

18.“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Super Sappy Moments Meme

He had insisted on being in the room, against the fussing midwife’s complaints. Rahlen knew Fenlin. He knew she was already nervous about the birth and he wasn’t about to abandon her to near-strangers. Besides that, her grip on his hand was so strong that Rahlen wasn’t sure he would even physically be able to leave.

Too much time passed, and then finally there was a huffing wail that rose up in the room. The little elf lay back to rest her head against the chair, hair sticking to her forehead and cheeks from sweat and exertion.

“It’s a little girl!” the midwife said, wiping the squirming tiny being clean. Rahlen’s heart was in his throat, watching as the tiny thing was handed to his wife. Dark hair, like his, but the baby’s skin was tan, like her mother’s.

Holding their daughter, completely exhausted and with tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, Fenlin looked up at him and smiled.

“We made a little person,” she whispered. “A girl! She’s…”

“Perfect,” Rahlen said, kneeling by her and gingerly brushing his thumb over the tiny head. "She’s perfect.“ Nestled against her mother, the newborn slowly settled, the wails drifting into little huffs.Big goblin eyes blinked open and Rahlen melted still further. Gold, just like her mother. 

"You,” he said, looking at his daughter. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Just like your mother.” He smiled at Fenlin, kissing her forehead and cheek and nose. “I love you. You’re the two most beautiful things in the world.”

Fenlin blinked, and huffed in laughter, only to wince as battered muscles complained at the movement.

The Antiva docks were full of merchants, fishmongers, and whores as Rasha led the small group of Fereldens off the ship. Dressed in simple worn leather armor, the elf glanced over her shoulder to check that the others were keeping up. Eleanor, the princess had surprised her, not that Rasha would ever admit that aloud. Thespoiled and pampered shem was the man who followed.

He smelled like flowers and he seemed unable to do anything other than gawp at her or stumble through useless chatter.

Bringing the shems through the Eluvians was a risk to the entire rebellion, but the entire rebellion was about saving their people. The Elvhen. Fenlin was one of those people, one of the ones worth saving. Rasha would risk two shems walking through the Crossroads to save her sister. She'd risk two hundred, if it meant Fenlin was found safe.

"Don't expect this to remain here after we use it," she warned the Princess and the fool. "My contacts moved it to a more accessible location for today only. We'll need to wait for the ship to arrive in Quarius to return.

"Moved what?" Oran asked, hurrying to try to walk next to Rasha. She put her arm out and blocked his manouever. With an elbow to his chest, she pushed him back behind her. "Ow," he muttered, giving Rasha a small bit of satisfaction in an otherwise unsatisfactory situation.

"Shut up, we're almost there."

Leading the way to a brothel, Rasha paid the Madame for an hour with a slender androgynous elf with strawberry blond hair. The elf smiled, taking Rasha's hand and led the three up to the rented room.

"Are you sure you want me to service all three of you?" He asked Rasha, an eyebrow lifting.

"I wouldn't pay that much if it was anything less than an emergency," she said, leaning against the door frame and waving the shems inside. "Besides the male shem has his hand down his pants so often you'd think he's worried it'll fall off." At the accusation, Oran turned a rather amusing shade of red, and opened his mouth to say something. Rasha shoved him into the room instead, and closed the door behind her.

The inside of the room was... well it was a whore's room. There was a large bed with mostly clean sheets, perfumed candles to mask the smell of sex, and a giant mirror leaned against the side of the room opposite the bed. It's glass was warped and bubbled, dusky and barely able to reflect the people who now stood in front of it.

"I'm all for adventures," Oran was saying, looking at the bed. "But El's my cousin and so I'm going to have to excuse myself from this particular part and hope that no one decides to write a best selling book about it."

Rasha rolled her eyes, and pushed past him to place a hand on the mirror. She whispered the passphrase, too quiet for the shems to properly hear, and the glass rippled.

"What did you do?" El asked, stepping up to stand next to Rasha. Their reflections were gone, and Rasha's hand had pressed through, up to her wrist.

"Come find out," Rasha said with a smile over her shoulder, and stepped through the Eluvian. This part of the crossroads was beautiful, floating stone pathways that twisted and defied gravity. Trees heavy with fragrant pink blossoms grew down from an arbor overhead, and Rasha closed her eyes to breathe in the heady scent.

Behind her, she heard a gasp, and then a sudden yelp as  the shems stepped through.

"Where is THE GROUND?" Oran asked, and Rasha looked over to see him with his back pressed against the now-solid Eluvian. He looked up and went pale. "Why is the ground over our heads?" he asked. Eleanor was, predictably, faring much better. She walked up to where Rasha stood and looked around with a small frown.

"I've never seen anything like this," the princess said quietly. "Where are we?"

"The shortcut from Antiva to Tevinter," Rasha said. The shems didn't seem to be able to appreciate how beautiful the crossroads were, but what could you expect from humans?

Stepping out onto one of the floating paths, Rasha started forward, steps confident and sure. Halfway up the path, she turned to see the two shems hesitantly climbing up after her. El looked a little pale and had her eyes firmly focused ahead, while Oran kept his eyes glued to his cousin, and looked like he might faint.

Rasha blinked, surprised. She'd expected she would need to drag him over the emptiness to their destination, but here he was, managing on his own. Grudgingly, she adjusted her assessment of him.

"Don't stop, please, can we just keep going until we're on the other side?" Oran protested as El and he caught up to Rasha.

Without speaking, Rasha turned and continued, leading them to a platform of shattered ruin. It was once a temple, with frescoes of the evanuris painted in brilliant colours. Mythal, Falon'din and others who must be the 'forgotten ones' only alluded to, never named.

"Don't stray, the spirits here won't appreciate the presence of humans," Rasha said.

A stairwell led them up to the second floor of the ruined temple, and Rasha froze on the top step as she saw the Eluvian. The shems caught up to her, slowing as they saw her tense. Ahead, across what might have been a library, a man and woman stood by the mirror, speaking in quiet voices. The man, tall and bald, wore armor similar to what Rasha had arrived at Highever in. The woman, simple leathers, her silver hair trimmed into a mohawk. They were standing close to each other, her hand on his arm. The look on her face made Rasha feel sick.

"Who are they?" Oran asked in a whisper. Rasha winced, watching as her mother's ears twitched and the two turned to look at them. It took Rasha a moment to realise what was so different about her mother. The purple vallaslin, gotten for a mis-gotten brother, was gone.

"My mother," Rasha said through grit teeth, taking a deep breath and rolling her shoulders back. "And a friend of hers."

Walking forward, nearly a full head taller than her mother, the redheaded elf stopped just beyond arm's reach from the two elves, who blocked the way to the Eluvian.

"Rasha," her mother said softly. There were more wrinkles around her eyes now. "I'm glad to see you so well." Lilac eyes looked past Rasha's shoulder and she saw momentary surprise on her mother's face before a small smile of... pride? Throat tight, she turned to Solas.

He looked tired. More than usual.

"Is she bothering you?" Rasha asked, voice rough to hide the emotion that was threatening her composure. It was with a grim, fatalistic, satisfaction that Nils wasn't here. That fucker could rot in Orlais when the veil fell.

"No, Rasha," Solas said with a sad smile. "She came to help. To get my help, but I see you have this well in hand already." He nodded to the two shems who stood behind her. "But something has happened that we were not expecting. Some ritual or blood magic from where they are keeping your sister." He frowned.

"I must ask you to bring them here, so I can try to unravel the spell that was cast. For me to walk in Tevinter is too dangerous right now."

"I came here to bring my brother home," Eleanor said, stepping forward. "And I plan to do that, even if it means going through you."

Solas smiled sadly again and looked to Milliara.

"The ritual infused your brother with some sort of old magic," she said quietly. Then looked to Rasha. "Fenlin too. But without speaking to them, I can't know what happened. We can't know what happened. Then I promise, your brother-" she looked to Oran "And your cousin, will be able to go home."

Rasha nodded and made to step around her mother to get to the mirror. Milliara intercepted, and lay a hand on her daughter's cheek. Still strong, still callused despite the woman's advancing age.

"Come back safe, Rasha," she whispered. "I can't lose you again." Hesitantly, Rasha placed her hand over her mother's and nodded once.

"Whatever happened robbed Solas of some of his power," Milliara murmured. "Be careful, please, da'len. We'll be waiting here for your safe return."

Passing through the Eluvian was like walking into an oven. Even in the dark cellar where the Eluvian and fellow agent of Fen'harel waited, the heat of Tevinter was stifling. Immediately, Rasha pulled off her cloak and pushed her hair back from her face with a trembling hand.

"Maker's breath," gasped Oran as he stepped out of the Eluvian behind her. He looked at Rasha, an expression of sympathy on his face. She wanted to punch it off. No Shem should ever look at her like that. She didn't need his pity.

Oran's face was saved by Eleanor who bumped into him as she passed through the Eluvian. Nudging him aside, she looked at Rasha, then pointed back to the dark surface of the mirror, now solid again.

"What," she said. "In Maker's good earth, was that place? And how did your mother know to find us there? Who was that man? Your father?"

"The crossroads, where roads between places meet. And my mother knows everything, apparently," Rasha said with more venom than she felt. "And no, not my father, but maybe in a different world, one where he loved her back, maybe." But he didn't. And Rasha could only give her mother credit for knowing that he didn't and that he never would. That hadn't stop her from running to his side though, had it?

"Come on, we need to find where they are. The friend in Tevinter I mentioned will be meeting us at a small Inn not far from here."

**

The gates of the courtyard that led to the Villa swung open, and Fenlin grabbed the fallen cloak of Rahlen's wrapping it around herself. They'd scrubbed off some of the paint in the fountain, but mostly slept since the morning. Now it was nearly noon, the heat sweltering under the cloak, but it was better than being naked in front of whoever was walking in. Aside from some golden chains, not much of Fenlin's 'Mythal' dress had survived the night.

"Ah, and how is the happy couple?" Polonius asked, walking in with Favus and a handful of other guards. "Now, now, no need to by shy little huntress," he said with a wink to Fenlin."After all, you weren't last night."

Rahlen, a sheet wrapped around his hips, stepped forward, in front of her.

"You promised she would be freed," he said, and Fenlin rested a hand against the small of his back. There were scratches there, left from her, but scars too. Some from before, but others new. 

"I did, come huntress, let's get you washed and sent on your way, hm? Unless," Polonius said, peering around Rahlen's broad shoulder to look at her. "Unless you would like to stay as my guest, in the Villa of course. We could study magic together, would you like that?"

He didn't know the blood magic spell had broken, Fenlin was sure. He wouldn't intone the words like that, he wouldn't have been sure to make eye contact if he knew. Fenlin nodded, eyes wide.

How did someone look when they were bound by a blood spell? Vacant, worried? She let her fingers trail over Rahlen's skin in a silent 'it's okay' before she stepped out and walked to Polonius.

"You said you'd let her go," Rahlen growled. Fenlin looked at him, feeling his heartbeat in her own chest. She took a deep breath, trying to calm his, and the rabbit-like thump of her own.

They would figure this out. But right now-

"I said I would free her, and if she chose to leave, she would be free to go. However, she choses to stay, Ferelden." Polonius rested a hand on her shoulder, and Fenlin struggled to not throw it off. She hid the twitch by pulling the cloak around her more tightly and stared at the ground.

"Return him to the barracks and have Vela see to his aches. He fights tonight," Polonius said, steering Fenlin towards the Villa. She looked over her shoulder at Rahlen but everything went cold as Polonius leaned in and whispered in her ear.

a birthday fic for @picchar!

The Winter Palace had been the prowling grounds of the Inquisitor long before the Breach ripped a hole into the sky. Now, decades later, the Ghost of Halamshiral's daughter walked into the grand ballroom. Her skin was golden  in the light of crystal chandeliers, her hair a pure white, brighter than that of her mother's. The dress she wore was unapologetically elven, her hair pulled up to show the pointed tips of her ears.

There were whispers of what had happened in Ferelden. That she arrived on the arm of the Grand Enchanter's favoured student... who just happened to be the youngest prince of Ferelden.

A dozen hearts burst and broke as they crossed the ballroom floor, though the small elf was oblivious to it all. She'd been so afraid at first, but the man who held her hand in the crook of his elbow had been there through the sniping comments in the garden, through  the masses of people in the streets of the city that had so thoroughly damaged her mother. And now here he was, calm and calming, even though the smirk he shot her and slight squeeze of her hand sent a flush of warmth through her.

"Would you dance with me?" he asked, pulling her into his arms properly. "The intrigue, the backstabbing, it can all wait at least one song, don't you think?"

Fenlin blinked and smiled.

"I would love to," she said quietly. "Thank you for coming with me, I don't think I would have survived without you." She stepped back as he guided her forwards into a waltz. Smiling down at her, Rahlen shook his head just once.

"I wasn't the one that threw that bard out the window last night," he murmured to her.

"He surprised me, okay?" she huffed, ears turning a bit red. "And I didn't throw him, I just, dodged. It was his fault he tripped right out the open window." Rahlen laughed, and Fen couldn't help the smile that spread on her face or the giggle that followed.

"You know what I meant though," she said.

"I told you, back in Denerim, I want to be with you. If that involves attending fancy parties, or riding through unreasonably cold mountain passes, so be it. You're stuck with me, Fenlin."

Her heart felt like it might burst from the warmth of his words alone, but she couldn't help but tease him, just a little.

"That wasn't actually what you said," she corrected. "The words 'to be with' wheren't said."

He grinned, running his thumb over the back of her hand.

"Not out loud," he said. "But they were there, I'm surprised your ears didn't catch them. Because I could have sworn they were deafening me. I've never been so afraid," he admitted quietly, for only her to hear. "What if you said you didn't want me back?"

Fenlin snorted, the laugh bubbling up too fast for her to manage.

"Rahlen," she said with a smile. "Who in their right mind wouldn't want you? You're kind, funny, and you care for your people. For more than your people. The moment you tried to make sure I'd be alright, after the horrible things people had said, I was trying to prepare myself for the inevitable."

"The inevitable being that I couldn't let you go?" He asked.

"The inevitable being that an elf doesn't get a happy ending," she said quietly.

He stopped dancing, and cupped her jaw, tenderly tilting it so she could meet his kiss. There were gasps in the court, a smatter of applause and a whisper of rumours already starting. Of plots.

"I hope you get one," Rahlen murmured. "You of all people deserve a happy ending Fenlin, and I'd like to be part of it."

She looked up at him, wide eyed. He was serious? But- what if he changed his mind? She opened her mouth but didn't get a chance to speak before he pulled her closer, guiding them back into the dance.

"Besides," he murmured into her ear. "Don't you know that a mabari puppy is a betrothal gift? Remind me never to underestimate my mother again," he said with a small chuckle. "Will you? I mean, you've already accepted Potato, but this time I'm asking. Would you marry me, Fenlin Lavellan?"

Eyes prickling, she nodded, glad that he was so tall that she could hide her expression behind his shoulder.

"But," she whispered.

In a way, Rahlen was grateful that he had been called out to the Villa. It was better than trying to sleep with the guilt eating away at him from the inside. How could he sleep when the bastard maleficar was forcing his will onto Fenlin? Or others? The Prince was ready to fight Polonius if the master tried to pull a similar spell over him.

Yet, when Rahlen was escorted into the medical room, the master was only joined by the giant Templar, and was nibbling at fruit that had been laid out on a small table. Beyond him was a bathtub made of copper, with two barely dressed villa slaves kneeling by it. Were they also under one of the maleficar's pathetic spells? What was it that Fenlin had done that triggered the man to be so afraid to lose control over her that he'd resorted to sacrificing slaves?

"You seem agitated, Ferelden," Polonius said, gesturing for Rahlen to come closer with a hand that still held a grape between his index and thumb. "I expect your friend the pale elf told you about what happened earlier with my dear huntress. It's most regrettable that things came to such an outcome, but you will understand soon."

Rahlen grit his teeth, certain that no, he would not understand. How could he understand taking away the free will of someone? Let alone a mage? Forcing Fenlin to behave was tantamount to turning her tranquil, but at least... at least the spell could be broken. Rahlen just hoped that the woman wouldn't break along with the spell.

"Come, sit," Polonius said, popping the grape into his mouth. "There remains only minor healing to your leg, and we have a matter to discuss." Reaching for a silver pitcher on the table, Polonius poured cool, clear water into two goblets. Body betraying him, Rahlen realised how thirsty he was. How thirst had become a background constant in his life since arriving.

"What do you wish to discuss?" Rahlen said, his tongue feeling like sand against his palate. He stepped forward, sitting into the chair that was placed opposite the bastard. "What you did to Fenlin?"

"Partially," Polonius said, gesturing to the fruit and water. "Help yourself, the kitchen was over eager in preparing food for tonight's guests. I would rather feed my fighters than see food go to waste."

Rahlen reached for the water, eyeing it before taking a small sip. It was cold, and tasted better than any of the expensive wines or liqueurs that he'd been served in Orlais over his lifetime. He finished the goblet, wincing as the cold seeped up to his forehead, but the thirst had abated somewhat. Enough that he could focus on the conversation at hand.

"So?" Rahlen said, glaring at Polonius. "Talk."

The man tilted his head, and placed his hands over the scar on Rahlen's thigh. The cool static of magic danced over his skin, and Rahlen watched as the scar began to fade, fresh pink skin replacing the dark purple tissue.

"I am a man who knows my limits," Polonius said. "And somehow our huntress manages to test ever last one. Yet, I cannot let her free and lose the investment I have placed in her training, healing, and equipment."

Rahlen scowled. He doubted that Polonius would end up in the poorhouse if he just let Fenlin go. The charnel house, maybe, after Fenlin roasted him alive.

"However," the maleficar continued. "I have determined a way to please most parties. If you do me a great service tonight, you will make enough coin to purchase a gladiator's freedom." Polonius paused, looking up at Rahlen meaningfully. "Even an expensive, exotic gladiator such as our huntress."

Rahlen kept still.

"And you would just let her go?" He asked. "Even after casting a blood spell on her?"

Polonius shrugged.

"She would be free, the cost of her keep paid for. I am a businessman, Ferelden, not a monster." Rahlen disagreed, but he kept his tongue still for the time being. "And should you not agree to aid me in this task tonight, I will have little choice but to keep our huntress on a rather short leash, you see. She has proven to need a strong hand in discipline and cannot be left unsupervised. Naturally I would have to move her into a chamber in the villa, close to my hand."

"What's the task that is so important?" Rahlen growled. He didn't want to show the anger that was building in his chest, but what little patience he had left for the Maleficar was evaporating by the breath. "That you use Fenlin as a bargaining chip?"

Polonius finished the healing spell and sat back, plucking up his own goblet of water and taking a sip. Reaching out, he picked up the pitcher and poured Rahlen another cupful of water.

"As I said, tonight I have guests arriving. I have promised them entertainment, but require complete commitment to the role that I need...filled."

"You want me to fight," Rahlen said. "Fine. I'll fight."

"Ah," Polonius said with a small smile. He plucked another grape from the table and popped it into his mouth. "I do not need you to fight. Not tonight, at least. There is a ritual, you see, that requires a young, strong human man. One who will be able to perform in front of a small gathering. Something I am sure you are not bothered by, considering the trysts you have with the pale elf in the barracks at night, hm?"

Rahlen felt his stomach twist and his ears grow warm. Had Polonius also heard their discussions about the key? Did he know? Was that why he'd punished Fenlin? Shit. The prince glanced over at the slaves waiting by the tub. One was eying his bared chest, while the other just stared at the water in the tub. Then, slowly, he looked back at Polonius.

"And if I do this, you'll let her go?" Rahlen asked. "You swear to this on whatever you hold most dear?"

Polonius lifted a hand, and pressed it over his chest.

"I swear on the lineage of my family, and ancestry that reaches back to the Magisters of old, that should you complete your role tonight, I will release the huntress Fenlin from the bonds of slavery to me. Going still further, I will arrange transport for her to return home should she wish."

Rahlen worked his jaw, trying to find any loopholes he might have missed. Finally he nodded, holding out his hand to Polonius. The Master took it, squeezing it firmly.

"Agreed," Rahlen said.

"Wonderful," Polonius said with a broad, toxic, smile. "I will explain what you must do while the ladies prepare you for your debut."

**

There had been something in the water, Rahlen realised. There had to have been. Around him, shadows flickered and curled around him, as though clinging to the beast he was supposed to represent. The beast he was supposed to be. Standing in a shadowed doorway to the courtyard, Rahlen was desperately trying to not hate himself for what he was about to do. Polonius had said the other person was similarly willing, for reasons of their own.

The mask over his face turned his breath hot and rough, making him wonder if magic was at work, channeling the Oldest of old gods, the first Archdemon.

His mother would be ashamed. His father, horrified. But this was to get Fenlin out of the bastard Maleficar's grasp. Then she could reach out, let Ferelden and The Inquisition know where they were, she could find a way to smash this horrible place and free the slaves within it. He knew she could, he had more faith in the little elf than he currently had in Andraste herself.

The slave at his side drew the curtains to the side and gestured for Rahlen to move forward. Torches burst into blue fire as he passed, but he barely noticed.

Ahead, there was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. Like him, she wore a mask, but her body was liquid gold that shone through veils of silk, inviting his touch. The silk billowed in the evening breeze, beckoning him forward like arms held out for him to take hold of.

As he neared her, he could see golden vines curling around her form, a living goddess, elven and wild, and waiting for him. A lady of the forests of the world, flowers blooming on her crown of vines and twigs.

He took her hand, barely aware of the others in the courtyard. So delicate and small, he could feel the thrum of her rapid heartbeat in her palm. Polonius took blood, and on instinct, Rahlen pressed his palm to hers, staring into the liquid gold of her eyes. She was sunrise in the darkness of the courtyard, and he couldn't look away.

As she drank from the chalice, he watched a thin line of bloody wine trail down along her chin. The urge to lean in and lick it clean was nearly overwhelming, and Rahlen shuddered at the thought. Then, handed the chalice, he drained it, tasting their blood on a bed of fruity wine. It was fire, starting in his lower belly and spreading through his body until he was unable to keep still.

Hard for her, the Goddess, he tore at the layers of silk and mist that kept her skin from his touch. They were in the way, and the dragon waking within him had no patience for untangling the layers.

Only as she was bared, his hands finally touching her skin, was he pleased. Pressing his face into the crook of her throat, he breathed in the smell of warmth and wilderness of her skin. And when he pulled her against him, settling her hips against the pressing need of his, she arched into him, one of those small golden hands sliding up to drag along the back of his neck.

Whatever magic this was, it was powerful, and there was no way to stop it now. Not even if he was willing to try.

**

Dawn broke, finding Fenlin curled up in Dumat's arms. The masks had been discarded at some point in the night, too cumbersome for mouths that hungered for skin, foreheads that begged to touch, and the intimacy that their audience had not expected.

The throbbing ache between her legs told Fenlin that the dream of the night before had been real, though whether the man still pressed against- inside of her- was Dumat, she wasn't sure. The haze of the drink had ebbed, and at some point in the night, she'd felt Dumat break each thread of the spell that Polonius had cast over her.

"You smell like sunshine," Dumat murmured into the back of her neck, strong arms holding her tight against his chest. But without the fog of the drugged water, or the blood magic, the voice rumbling against her was... familiar.

They hadn't slept. The gold paint on her skin was smeared with black and silver, his touch marking her in so many ways. Fenlin shivered, tilting her head up to look at Dumat's true face. A human face, one that still was painted, but similarly smeared with gold from her.

"R-Rahlen!?" she breathed, eyes widening.

He blinked, his eyes, blue again. He started to pull back, a look of shock on his face, but she was faster. Pulling his arms around her, she pressed her face into his shoulder, his neck. He smelled like sex and sweat, and her.

"Thank the abyss it's you," she mumbled into his chest. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." She kissed his skin, grateful beyond measure that she was in his arms and not- not someone else's, some strangers.

"Are you- Fenlin I-" he said, but she hushed his mouth with a kiss, squirming around to press her chest to his, her legs wrapping around him one last time.

"I was so scared," she mumbled into his lips. She could feel his presence, like a second body placed over her own, a second heartbeat in his chest. What had happened last night? What spell had Polonius cast that shattered whatever hold he'd taken such care to put on her the day before.

"please don't leave me," she mumbled, only half aware of what she was saying. "Please. I need you, I can't-"

"Fenlin, you're-" Rahlen said, when he was allowed to between kisses.

"Please," she whispered, looking at him.

"I won't," he promised. "But, your voice."

She blinked, pressing a hand to her throat. She hadn't noticed. Wh- 

He rolled his hips, pressing her down into the pillows and into her once more. She gasped, letting out a shivering moan.

"I want to hear you say my name again," he murmured into her ear.

"Rahlen," she moaned, curling her arms around him tighter. She felt the shiver down his back, felt the growl in his chest in response.

"Again, Fen, please. Again, don't stop talking."

"Rahlen."

**

"He's going to let you go," Rahlen said, brushing a hand along her cheek once they'd finished. The courtyard was empty aside from a few guards posted at the exits. Both exhausted, it was a struggle to stay awake. They hadn't slept all night, and now, muscles aching and bodies spent, it was all they could do to just hold onto each other.

"What?" she whispered, looking at him. "He won't. Men like him, they don't let go of their toys. Whether the toys are wooden puppets or people." She bit her lip, and curled into him tightly.

"I'm not leaving without you. I can't. Even if you and Hanin are- I can't. I'm sorry."

"Even if- how does everyone know that Hanin and I have been together?" Rahlen muttered. "It wasn't anything more than comfort, Fen. Not like-" Not like this, he didnt' say. Fenlin heard it anyways.

"I had to tell Polonius," Fenlin said, feeling ill. "The spell, he," she shuddered. "I told him I'd seen you two when I went to cut my hair. He knows I'm a mage, it's- I'm so sorry. I tried to fight it."

Gentle fingers brushed through her hair, short as it was. Maybe one day, when they'd burnt Tevinter to the ground, Fenlin would grow it long again. If only in the hope of feeling his fingers tangle into it.

"What about Athim?" Rahlen asked, his voice a little tight.

"I couldn't win against him, and I couldn't let him suffer for not killing me," Fenlin whispered. "I thought- the only way the crowd would be happy was to think we were together. Long lost loves or something out of a terrible book."

"So you're not... together?" he murmured.

"Comfort," she whispered. "He's hurting, I can't leave him here either. Or Hanin. I can't leave anyone here, but-"

"But it's different." Rahlen said, finishing her sentence. He stifled a yawn, and pressed his face into her shoulder. "You smell so good," he murmured. "We'll figure out how to deal with this together, I promise."

"I know," she whispered. "We will, somehow. I... I care about you. A lot."

She felt him smile into her skin, and he pulled back to place a gentle kiss on her lips.

The first few bouts were a mess. Rahlen watched the first pair of fighters circle each other for nearly a full minute before the shorter of the two (an elf, maybe?) lurched forward only to catch his sandal in the sand and plant face first into the ground. It should have been over quickly, but the elf's opponent was nervous, and it took repeated hacking with the man's sword to stop the body from twitching.

Rahlen felt sick as he watched fight after fight, some with both fighters surviving, just wounded, others were the survival of the victor was in question. The prince's shackled hands curled around the bars that kept the prisoners out of the arena. They had a view up and close of the gladiators that would make most of the paying fans envious... if it wasn't for the reason they were so close to the fights.

Next to him, Hanin watched the fights with sharp eyes, showing a restraint that Rahlen hadn't seen yet in the man. Whatever soft shell the man had worn earlier was being stripped away by this hellhole, Rahlen thought. What was underneath? What would be left of any of them?

"Tonight! Hold your breath as Master Polonius presents to you a rare treat. A wild elf, captured in the Brescillian forests after slaying no less than five men," the announcer's voice boomed through the arena. Rahlen tightened his fingers on the iron bars.

"Is this her?" Hanin asked, nudging Rahlen with an elbow.

"I think so, Polonius keeps calling her Huntress," Rahlen muttered, squinting to try to see into the dark tunnels that gladiators had been using to enter the arena.

"Master's got a thing for free elves," the dwarf muttered from Rahlen's other side. "Athim tries to warn anyone new. That must be why they kept her away."

Hanin snorted.

"He didn't bother me," the heir said. "I'm an elf too."

"Yeah, a city elf," the dwarf said. "He likes the wild ones. With the tattoos on their faces."

Rahlen's grip had only gotten tighter on the iron bars as he watched Fenlin walk out into the arena. She looked so ...small. Wild, just like the dwarf had said. The armor she was in was- it was for the audience. It wasn't for the elf who was stuck in it.  Torch light glinted off the long scar on her side, and Rahlen felt guilt well up in his throat.

He'd done this. He'd hurt her, then here she was, about to fight the fucking champion of this Maker-damned city, because she'd been caught trying to bring him home.

"This isn't fair," Rahlen growled. The Announcer was in the middle of his spiel for the champion, and the crowd was starting to roar.

"Life's not fair, handsome," the Dwarf said, patting his shoulder. "Athim's a good guy, he'll make it quick."

"You haven't seen her fight," Rahlen said, a bit desperate for any last hope that Fenlin would pull out of the battle in one piece.

"Have y-" Hanin started to ask. He stopped, and when Rahlen glanced at him, he saw the elf had gone wide-eyed and pale under the peeling sun burn. "They called him Fen'Harel..."

"Isn't that an elven god?" Rahlen asked, glancing back out at the arena to watch the 'golden wolf' strut out and bask in the adulation of the bloodthirsty crowd. He was tall for an elf, taller than Hanin and wearing more than twice the armor that they'd given Fenlin. And he had a spear that would easily keep Fenlin far out of striking range.

"The Dread Wolf, betrayer, the one who locked away the true gods and caused the elves to fall," Hanin said. "It's... it's disgusting that they call him that."

Trumpets announced the beginning of the fight. Rahlen's nerves jangled up tight, nearly choking him as he watched Fenlin and the larger elf start to circle each other. The fight was heavily mismatched, and as much as he wanted to believe that Fen would be able to kick this Athim's ass, Rahlen wasn't sure. He hadn't actually seen the woman fight. He didn't actually know much about her, he realised, and he swallowed hard.

"Come on!" he shouted as Athim scooped up sand with his spear, but Fen was already rolling out of the way, scooping a handful of her own sand and flinging it directly into the man's face. She was quick on her feet, scrambling around out of their sight to flank the Champion.

"First blood goes to the huntress!" the announcer shouted, and the crowd reacted in horror and surprise. Rahlen though, was on his feet, shouting encouragement and banging a palm against the bars.

But then she staggered back as the spear butt hit her, and Rahlen's breath caught in his throat. Shit. But she was able to avoid the spear long enough to rip off the stupid mask they'd put her in. Tucking and rolling, Fen dodged another spear thrust, but Rahlen noticed that each time she was leaving less and less space to spare between her and the spear's blade.

The Champion hesitated, Rahlen wasn't sure why but he shouted at Fen to get up. He wasn't sure if she'd heard him, but the small dalish elf took advantage of that hesitation. Sand kicked up dust, hiding what was happening from Rahlen's eyes, but then as it cleared, he saw Fen toss away the man's helmet and then get thrown from his back. She still got to her feet, but-

Rahlen watched, confused as the two elves stared at each other in the arena.

"What's going on?" he asked, glancing at the dwarf. "Is-" he started to ask, but the words died in his throat as Fenlin leapt up into the other man's arms, curling tight around him. Like she knew him. Like she- Rahlen swallowed hard as Fenlin pulled back and kissed Athim deeply.

But...

But he'd asked if there was someone... back at the costal camp... she'd said no, hadn't she?

Rahlen let go of the iron bars, rubbing the indents they'd left in his palms, and frowned, turning away as the 'golden wolf' threw Fen over his shoulder and carried her from the arena. He wasn't sure what he was feeling right now. Relief that Fen was okay was twisted by something else and he didn't feel like sorting it out. Instead, Rahlen just wanted to punch something.

"Oh," Hanin said. Then he turned to spot Rahlen's face. "Uh... hey, at least she's not dead?"

"Yeah," Rahlen said. "Yeah it's good she's not dead. Or hurt." Right?

The dwarf was behind Rahlen, and hadn't seen his expression by the way she had laughed and clapped her shackled hands together.

"I bet they're fucking against the wall back there," The dwarf said with a lewd gesture and grunt. "Who could have staged that kind of drama?"

Rahlen shoved down the annoyance and odd tension in his chest, forcing the careless grin back onto his face as he looked over at the Dwarf and shrugged.

"This is what happens when your travelling partner can't talk I guess," Rahlen said. "You wind up finding out all kinds of things when you're enslaved together." The laugh sounded fine, but it tasted bitter on his tongue. Later, when he wasn't surrounded by other fighters, Rahlen would need to sort whatever this was out. He wasn't willing to risk himself like he had in the past. Especially not in a land of literal life and death.

"Hey," Hanin said. Rahlen was already forming the words 'I'm fine' when the elf surprised him. "Do you think Fenlin will teach me that knee lock? I've never seen that before."

"Sure," Rahlen said. "Whenever she's done 'catching up' with that Champion of hers." Thank the maker Hanin was as focused on himself as he always was.

**

Contrary to a certain dwarf's imagination, Fenlin and Athim were not pressed up against a brick wall, locked in a tight embrace. Guards had been waiting for them, hidden in the shadows of the ramp that led down to the underbelly of the arena. One ripped Fenlin from Athim's shoulder before he had a chance to set her down. The guard threw her against a brick wall, the impact forcing the air from Fenlin's lungs, and sending stars across her vision as her head cracked back into the bricks.

"Hey!" shouted Athim from the other side of the bursts of light that danced in front of Fenlin's eyes. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, sucking in air.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

A heavy gloved hand grabbed onto the back of Fenlin's vest and hauled her upright, sending a fresh wave of pain through her head. Her vision cleared enough to see Athim being held back by two guards, one on each arm.

"The Master's not happy," the guard holding Fenlin said. It wasn't the one who had offered her advice earlier, which was too bad. That one hadn't been a total asshole. "How do you think anyone's going to want to pay for either of you tonight after watching the rabbits dry-hump in the arena?"

"A lot?" Athim said, glancing at Fen. He frowned. Fen was glaring at the man holding her, but she hadn't started yelling at him. It wouldn't make sense to Athim.

"Come on, Master wants you two looking pretty so that maybe, maybe you'll earn your keep tonight."

Fenlin made a face, and threw up a rude gesture at the guard. It was worth the moment of satisfaction before he backhanded her across the mouth.

The guards clapped the collars and shackles back on, then dragged the two elves to a cleaner holding cell where a healer and bath waited. The healer, a woman with dark skin and a thin metal collar around her throat, made a face as the guard dragged Fenlin in and tossed her to the ground, and Fen caught Athim stumbling past her as his guards shoved him into the room.

"Do you have to rough all of the women up?" she asked the guard with a sneer. "You make my job harder than it needs be."

Fenlin felt something warm and wet land on her back. The guard had spit on her. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself up to her feet, hands balled together and- Athim touched her shoulder, holding her back.

"<Mana, Lethallan>," he said quietly. "<Atish'an>."

How could he tell her to be peaceful when- Fenlin wiped her bloody lip on her forearm, and glared at the guard. Fine. Shaking the lingering frustration from her head, she let Athim lead her to the healer.

"You know this one, Champion?" the healer asked, roughly pushing Fenlin onto a stool in front of the bath. "You wash, I'll heal those wounds once you get the worst of the sand out of them."

"Sure thing Vela," Athim said. "Yeah, we- we grew up in the same clan. I left when I was young, I didn't expect to see her here." Athim explained, pulling off his armor as he spoke. Fenlin immediately turned away, ears going red. The Healer made an annoyed sound and turned Fenlin's face back so it was easier to examine.

"Did she speak back then? Or was she always mute?" the healer, Vela, asked, starting to probe at the split lip and bruise forming on Fen's face.

"Oh, she used to talk all the time, a real chatterbox when we were kids," Athim said, climbing into the bath. He hissed as the water reached his back. "But back then the scratches she left on my back were made with her nails, not daggers."

Fenlin turned red and glared at Athim who just smirked at her.

"Stop squirming," Vela said sharply, and turned Fenlin's face back to centre. "She understands common, right?"

"She does, she's just stubborn," Athim said. From the corner of her eye, Fenlin could see he was starting to wash off the grime of the arena.

"Not too stubborn I hope," Vela said, starting to cast a healing spell. "You know what happens to those that Polonius can't break."

Fenlin's eyes slipped over to look at Athim. He was so different than the boy she remembered, but how different was she? Could she trust him? As he looked at her, he nodded just ever so slightly. As though he was thinking the same. The ache and heat of Fenlin's lip faded as the healing spell took hold.

"She's stubborn, not stupid," Athim said. "She'll learn how to manage the expectations of the job. Gaius hit her head against the wall, you should check that out too," he said after a moment of thought.

Vela's lips pressed together and she frowned, moving around to part Fenlin's hair and peer at her scalp. Soon the familiar tingle of healing magic spread over her head, and Fenlin felt the fuzziness of pain clear.

"Alright, you're done. You," Vela said, pointing to Fenlin. "Wash. Hair too. And you," the healer jabbed a finger at Athim. "Get your arse on the stool so I can clean those cuts out. Any other injuries?"

Athim stood in the tub, unbothered to hide himself. Fenlin blinked, and averted her eyes. It wasn't like she hadn't seen Athim before, they'd gone swimming when they were little, but he didn't have shoulders like that when they were little. And he didn't have have... he didn't have a lot of what he had now when he was little.

"Oh Maker, she's shy," Vela said with a groan. "They're going to eat her alive out there." She swatted Fenlin's knee. "Go on. Wash. Now." Chastised, Fen hopped off the stool and hurried over to the tub. With her back to Athim (and the guards who were still there, watching with disgusting smiles on their faces), she stripped off the sandy 'armor' and eased into the bath.

Fenlin prayed the night would be over soon, and she could just curl up on her small cot, and dream of killing every last slaver in Tevinter. Slowly. Picking up the soap, Fenlin was about to scrub away the dust on her skin when she felt a strange shape under her thumb. Lifting it, she noticed that someone had carved the shape of a bird into the soap. A glance at Athim over her shoulder told Fenlin that it must have been him.

Flying out of the chains of Polonius was tempting, but she couldn't leave Rahlen behind, or Hanin. She might have to sew the inquisitor's son's mouth shut though, or his yelling would announce any attempts at escape to the guards. Dipping the soap into the water, she started to scrub at her skin, the carved side against her skin to wear the shape away.

**

The night was not over quickly, and Fenlin was falling asleep as guards led her and Athim back to the barracks. They hadn't been given time to change from the straps of leather and scraps of silk that Polonius had given them to wear for the after-party. Hours of serving entitled Vint nobles wine, food, letting them leer at the bodies of the winners before they quietly spoke to Polonius with an offer.

"Huntress, this is your room now," the guard to her left- a woman- said, opening the iron door of a small cell in the main barracks and pointed for her to go inside. "Champion you know where yours is."

Glancing over her shoulder at Athim, Fenlin nodded at him. Hopefully, sometime, maybe later that day (for it was surely morning by now) she would be able to try to find out how he had ended up here, of all places. But right now, all Fenlin wanted was to curl up and sleep. She walked into the cell, crawled onto the cot and pressed her face into the sheet that covered the straw mattress. It smelled like mildew and sweat, but it meant she could sleep, now.

It seemed as though her head had just touched the mattress when a shield slammed into the bars of her cell. Fenlin jolted awake, hand reaching for the knife at- her hand found bare skin and a strap of leather. Sitting up, Fen squinted in the morning light to see Favus standing at the door.

"Get up, get dressed, time for morning training," he boomed. He looked Fenlin over and arched an eyebrow. "Shame about last night," he said, voice still loud enough to carry. "If someone hadn't paid for your pretty little head, Master Polonius was going to let me keep you."

Cheeks burning, Fenlin slipped off the cot and turned her back to Favus. She had to change into the more comfortable sparring gear. It was still ridiculous, but at least the leather vest covered most of her chest, and the hide skirt hid more than the gauzey silk had done. She pulled the other clothes on quickly, slipping the fancy straps off from underneath the leather.

"Shame," Favus said from the other side of the bars. "Damn shame. Maybe if you keep pissin' off Polonius, he'll let me keep you, hm?" With a laugh that made Fen's skin crawl, he unlocked the cell door and wandered down the hall, banging his shield against each iron door on the way by.

"Hey, how are you feeling after yesterday?" Fenlin, in the middle of braiding her hair into a tight bun, looked over to see Athim at the door, wearing linen pants and nothing else. Linen looked a lot more comfortable than leather in this heat, but between the leather vest or the silks... Fen would prefer the leather.

She shrugged, trying not to think about Favus, or the way he pushed down the magic around him, like he suffocated life and everything good.

"Fen-" Her head snapped up again when she heard Rahlen's voice. "Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt-" he said to Athim. "We haven't met. Rahlen, your girlfriend here saved my life. A few times."

Fenlin frowned. Wh-

"She's pretty great, isn't she?" Athim said, eyes positively twinkling with mischief as he walked into Fen's cell and pinched her cheek. "Such a cute little girlfriend, saving people all over the world."

Fenlin glared at Athim, her hand reaching out to smack his hand away. They weren't that. With a pointed look at Athim, then Rahlen, then back to her childhood friend, Fenlin tried to get Athim to explain how they knew each other.

Instead Athim just embraced her, shoving her face into his chest. While not unpleasant it was also the opposite of what Fenlin had wanted him to do.

"My darling," he said, over the top. "I have missed you so much. With your angry glares and huffs of frustration and pretending you don't love me back," he added laughing as Fenlin gave up on her hair and started trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

With a slightly desperate look over Athim's arm, Fenlin deflated a little when she saw Rahlen had left, and there was only the Inquisitor's son peering in, a grin on his face.

"Rahlen said you would be willing to teach me that knee lock," he said. "How do you know each other anyways? Fenlin doesn't really seem like your type, Athim," Hanin said, swaggering in and plopping down on the cot.

"You're too big for that," Athim said. "The knee lock thing. Her mother showed her and they're the only elves I know short and small enough to get under my guard. But I mean, on sand it might be easier."

Athim froze, still holding a struggling Fenlin to his chest. He peered down at her.

"Does... your mother know where you are?" He asked, a little hopefully.

Fen shook her head, paused as she considered things, then shook her head again. No.

"Damnit," Athim said with a sigh.

"Don't worry, my mother-" Hanin started. Athim held up a hand, and Fenlin ducked under it, finally freeing herself.

"No, I mean, no offense to your mother, but Fenlin's here would have been really helpful to get us out of here."

Hanin frowned, glancing at Fenlin, then back at Athim.

"My mother's the inquisitor," he said. "Who's her mother? Someone more important?"

"She didn't tell you?" Athim asked, then winced as Fenlin punched his arm and pointed to her throat. "Ah, right. Mute. So, get this, her mom-" Fenlin punched him again, harder this time.

She gestured at her palm and made a glowy gesture with her other hand. Then pointed at Hanin.

"So you're saying..." Athim said quietly. "The he wasn't shitting us." Fenlin nodded, then glanced around. She pointed where Rahlen had been, and lifted her hand up, way up to gesture to mean 'tall' and made the motion of a crown on her head.

"And Rahlen normally wears a hat...?" Athim asked, arching an eyebrow. Fen sighed and rolled her eyes. No. He did not normally wear a hat.

"Rahlen's the youngest prince of Ferelden," Hanin translated. Fenlin made a shushing gesture at him, but the elf just shrugged. "No one believed me, why would they believe him?"

Fen thought about that, then grudgingly admitted he had a point. She left Athim and Hanin to talk, slipping out with mussed hair to try to track down the Prince in question. He'd been walking on his own just now, was he finally able to fight?" Fenlin wasn't sure that was a good idea. What would happen if word got out the Prince of Ferelden and the heir of the inquisition died in a Tevinter fighting ring?

Shit.

Rahlen was standing in the practice yard, twirling a wooden spear in his hands.

Shit.

Right in front of Cresca.

Hanin watched Rahlen sat on the edge of the cot, turning the key over in his hands. Black iron, with glyphs etched into it's length that he recognized from reading Dagna's books that she had published. One of them was for protection, another lightning, but the others he wasn't sure of.

"The key she gave us," Rahlen said quietly. "It's for the collars." He ran his thumb over the iron. Because of this, because of a fucking haircut Polonius had sacrificed two people. Because the Master was too afraid of a small elf who had cut her hair. Tevinter's universal acceptance of magic might have made the bastards like Polonius weak, or lazy, but blood magic was powerful. The man might be lacking, but the spell Hanin had mentioned would not be.

Hanin sat on his own cot, listening to the Prince. Something was eating at the Ferelden, but Hanin wasn't sure what it was. He wasn't sure that Rahlen even knew what it was that was bothering him so much.

"We can't get her right now," Hanin said quietly. "I saw where she was, it's almost solid rock. There's two locks on it, at least one of them is magical."

"So, what, we just leave her there?" Rahlen asked, scowling up at him. Hanin shrugged a shoulder.

"No, we just have to figure out how to do it right," he pointed out. "So we don't fuck up and make this worse for us, or for her. We won't be able to do anything if we're all locked up separately, or sacrificed to cast a spell on her." He could still see the red spray coating Fenlin, could still hear the cooing Master, still taste the heady levels of power in that room. If only he'd tried to cast a spell, the blood might have broken the collar, might have saved all of them.

But he hadn't. He'd been afraid he might die, a useless, lost death in the cellar of a Tevinter Mage who had an unhealthy fixation on a dalish girl. And being afraid, he'd let the opportunity pass. Fenlin hadn't. She'd tried to throw herself between them, shackled and tied to the ground, covered in blood, she'd still tried to stop Polonius.

Half-forgotten memories of reading old reports detailing the adventures of the Inquisition at it's height. Reports of an agent named Ghost removing difficult obstacles. Fenlin's mother, running suicide missions for his own. Bitterly, Hanin wondered if his own mother had ever shown Fenlin's appreciation, validation, or if she'd always just taken her people for granted, froze them out, like she did her son.

Arguments between his mother and Leliana were calm, cold, but he remembered how there had always been a point of contention. Leliana had refused to tell his mother where Ghost had gone. The Inquisitor had been furious. Called Leliana's loyalty into question, but the spymaster had never once budged from her position. But... why? Had Fenlin's mother also saved Leliana, the way Fenlin had saved Rahlen? What about those women inspired such devotion?

"This is bullshit," Rahlen muttered, pulling Hanin from his thoughts. The elf watched the Prince run his hands over his face, scrubbing at his eyes.

"What is?" Hanin asked.

"My mother would have broken out of here by now. Hell, in doing so, she'd have raised half Tevinter to fight next to her."

"You're not alone on that front," Hanin admitted. "If my mother was here..." He trailed off, frowning. He wasn't sure what she would do. She'd survived so many impossible events, but they had all been violent cataclysms. What if the Venatori had just locked her up, with an anti-magic collar on her? Would she be able to do any better than Hanin was?

"Well, she has- had- an army," Hanin said after a moment. "I suppose that would make any imprisonment academic." He shook his head, looking down at his palms. There was no magic mark there, no easy way to break down the walls and free himself or his friends. Hanin blinked, wondering when that had happened.

Friends.

Fuck.

"We'll get everyone out," he promised Rahlen, hoping desperately it wasn't a lie. "Spar with Athim tomorrow, try to talk to him about what we can do. I'll..." he bit his words back as the sound of guards marching down the hall announced they were no longer safe to discuss that topic.

Hanin watched as two of the larger guards stopped at their door.

"Ferelden, you've been summoned." Rahlen looked at Hanin but the elf could only shrug. Had they found out about the key? Was this about healing the remaining damage to Rahlen's leg? Hanin watched as Rahlen left with the guards, grim faced.

Lying back onto the cot, Hanin draped an arm over his eyes. He was too tired to stay awake but too nervous to relax. Where were they taking Rahlen? Were they going to use blood magic on all of them, just to keep the fighters in line? Worse, what if they sacrificed Rahlen? Or-

Hanin slipped from worry into sleep without noticing. The cot was a raft, floating on an ocean of still-hot blood. In the distance he could see a massive shape with many glowing eyes lift it's shaggy head and sniff the air. It let out an unnerving howl, loud enough to send the blood-sea trembling with droplets falling upwards in fast globules of red.

Before the blood-rain grew too thick to see through, the wolf turned it's massive head, and all six of it's green eyes bore into Hanin's soul.

Fen'Harel walked in Tevinter.

**

The Demon's touch and voice were liquid, trailing lazy whorls over skin that was still tacky from congealed blood, occasionally pausing to lick at the slender neck by it's fangs.

Fenlin's eyes were closed, her breath shaky as she forced herself to hold still, pushing Desire's intrusive thoughts back. The metal cuffs around her ankles and wrists helped to remind her that the mouth on her neck wasn't Rahlen's, and the hands on her shoulders weren't Athim's.

"Don't deny yourself what you want, elfling," Desire purred into her ear. "They men you care for do not. You have seen yourself that the Prince and Heir please themselves how they want. There is no wrong in enjoying one's self."

Fenlin wanted to speak, she wanted to tell the Demon to fuck off, that she looked forward to sending it back across the veil, or better, killing it when she was freed. But her voice was gone, and so too was her ability to cross Polonius. Killing his pet demon would make him angry. It would be //misbehaving// and she couldn't do that.

Not anymore.

The sound of the door opening was a welcome relief from the Demon's attention, and Fenlin looked up to see Polonius walk in, dressed in the finery he'd worn the night she'd fought Athim.

"Darling," he said softly, as though he was surprised to find her there, in such disarray. Fenlin lifted her head, and with two long strides, Polonius stood in front of her, cupping her cheeks and brushing away flaking blood from under her eyes. "You've been so good. I'm sorry you made me so angry." Fenlin was sorry too, and she hated it.

The demon purred, winding around them in purple trails of smoke. Each tendril that brushed over her skin made Fenlin shiver, and Polonius smiled. That made her tremble, the warring feelings of relief, pleasure and hatred mixing in her chest.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Polonius said. "You have quite a night ahead of you." He leaned down, pressing a light kiss on her bloody lips. Fenlin felt her entire body shiver, and her lips parted as Polonius pulled back. He gestured to the door, and Fenlin realised Favus and a handful of villa-slaves waited there, dressed in sheer silks.

Favus walked over, grimfaced. Crouching behind her, Fenlin felt the Templar undo her shackles. When he hauled her to her feet, they were numbed from Fenlin being left in that position for so long. She stumbled, and the Templar hoisted her up by the back of her vest.

"You should have let me have you," Favus muttered under his breath. "Now look at what's happened." What bothered Fenlin the most about his words though, was how sad they sounded. Once she was able to walk under her own power, the Templar let go of her and followed behind Fenlin as the silk slaves led her to a room with a large bath and various toiletries.

The water was refreshingly in the heat of the day, and Fenlin closed her eyes as she sank into the water, grateful that it was cool, unlike the hot blood she'd been bathed in earlier. Favus waited outside the door which had been left ever so slightly open. The other slaves batted Fenlin's hands away, scrubbing out the dirt and sweat and blood from her pores. They tsked at her hair, lathering it with soap that smelled of lavender and spice. Only when she was clean, scrubbed bright and skin tingling, was Fenlin allowed to step out from the bath. 

"Your skin is so beautiful," one of them murmured. "Not even a scratch on it."

Fenlin frowned, looking down at her arms. They'd been covered with small scars, some from falling on rocks as a child, others from training with knives. There was even one where the Fennec had bit her when she tried to pat it.

Gone. Everywhere the blood had covered, her skin was now pristine, glowing golden. The slaves sat her on a stool, towelling her dry with soft cotton. After the towels came some sort of cream that smelled of warmth and spice that the slaves rubbed into Fenlin's skin. She noticed it was pigmented, leaving behind golden dust that glimmered, turning her into a living statue.

One of the other slaves trimmed the hack job of her hair, careful to not let any strands of white fall into the drying paint on her skin. Finally, Fenlin was given some water and fruit,

"She's awful quiet," one of them whispered.

"Mute," another said. "Poor thing." Fenlin closed her eyes, letting them do what work they had to. She wanted to scream, to push them away, but her muscles refused to do so. So she sat until they told her to stand so that they could dress her. First came chains and baubles, a golden necklace that had chains trail low to cross over her belly and link at the back. Next came beaded silks in the greens and blues of a pond back home that she used to swim in. But the tears that pricked at her eyes were held back. Crying now would ruin the paint the villa slaves had applied. And that would be misbehaving.

Finally, they affixed the mask and veils. Fenlin didn't understand what they were doing, or why. The mask was beautiful, carved and detailed, porcelain white with golden boughs of leaves and twigs crowning her head.

The slaves stood back, looking at Fenlin who stood barefoot in the middle of the room. One pressed her lips together, then slipped away to let Favus know that they were ready.

Ready for what? A knot of dread was tightening in her belly. Fenlin felt like a calf being trussed for slaughter, and she wondered if this would be her final night on this side of the veil. Would death be quiet? Would it be calm? Would it be a relief after the last few weeks of walking the sands of Tevinter?

Favus stared at her for a moment, before motioning her to follow. Fen took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, then followed. He led her to the courtyard, dressed with torches that burnt gold in the night. On one end of the courtyard there was a raised dias that was strewn with pillows. Above it grew a trellis of vines, heavy flowers thick and sweet hung from the vines, filling the air with a honey-like sweetness. Silk veils draped along the trellis, billowing in the night breeze.

Hooded figures stood in a semi circle around the dias, faces shadowed and hands clasped in front of them. Her mind was growing soft and fuzzy, and Fenlin realised something must have been in the water. Calf to slaughter, that's exactly what this was, she thought.

"Lady Mythal," Polonius said, the only one with the hood of his robes pushed back to bare his face. "Please, we welcome you to our humble home. You grace us."

Fenlin's mind was struggling to keep up. Mythal? They- they were going to kill Mythal? Bastards. She was already dead, twice if Lady Morrigan's story was true. But even as her mind tried to piece together the situation, Fenlin's legs betrayed her, carrying her forward across flag stones to stand in front of Polonius. He held his hand out, and she took it delicately, her golden-shimmer fingers laden with rings that sparkled in the light.

"My lady," Polonius said, voice pitched loudly enough for the gathered figures to hear. "We welcome and treasure you, but I am afraid that we must ask more from you than just your presence."

Death. This was how she died, Fenlin thought, staring at the courtyard with it's shadowed vints. Dressed up and painted gold, for some stupid ceremony.

"We claim your power, your knowledge. Your very being," Polonius said. He lifted the hand that did not hold hers, and the torches snuffed out all at once. "We gift you, body and soul to our God, that he might rise again." One by one, the torches along the courtyard reignited, the flames now blue. Not the green of veilfire, but a true, alchemical blue. They were beautiful, Fenlin thought. If that was the last thing she had to see.

But there was another figure, striding forward, cutting through a path in the gathered figures. Tall, dressed in black and silver that glimmered like scales in the torchlight. He too wore a mask, this one twisted and dark, the horns of a dragon curling out from his head. It seemed as though the very ground shook with each step the dragon took. Fenlin tried to step back, but Polonius tightened his grip, holding her in place.

"We offer you to Dumat, God of Silence, God struck down unjustly during the first Blight."

Dumat stopped just in front of Fenlin, and her heart was hammering so hard, she was sure the demon-god would hear it. Polonius Passed her hand to Dumat, offering it wrist up. When Dumat took it, Fenlin was sure his touch was fire, burning her skin.

"We bind this goddess to you, Great one," Polonius said, gesturing towards one of the robed watchers. The figure bowed and approached with a golden chalice and a small obsidian blade. "We offer this goddess of the ancients to you."

Polonius cut along Fenlin's palm and held the cut over the chalice, letting the red blood drip into the cup. The robed mages -they had to be mages- had started to hum, a low chant that seemed to force Fenlin's heart to beat in time  with it.

"We offer her to you so that you might consume her, body, soul, power, and voice so that you may once more take your rightful place in the Black City."

Dumat offered his hand, palm up. Like with Fenlin's, Polonius cut along the god's palm, and Fenlin was sure that the blood that spilled out steamed as it fell into the chalice. Was that the drugged water? Or was this some abomination that she was going to be sacrificed to? And why?

Dumat took her hand, pressing the cut palms together with a ferocity that Made Fenlin wince.

Polonius was chanting something, but Fenlin was trapped by the silver eyes that shone from behind the Dragon mask. When the chalice was pressed to the slit of her mask, she had no choice but to swallow the mouthful of wine and blood that poured through the slit of Mythal's lips. It burned her throat, made her eyes water. And she watched as the chalice was offered to Dumat, the Archdemon was allowed to sip at his own leisure.

He drained the cup, holding it out to Polonius when he had finished. As she watched, Fenlin felt the heat of mixture spread through her body like wildfire on a dry grass plain. Her heart was hammering now, her breath catching as her palm throbbed against the cut on his.

"Great one, Master of Silence," Polonius said, bowing "She is yours."

Dumat shrugged off the heavy cloak, letting it fall to the flagstones below. He too was painted, black and silver scales over skin now bared to the night air. Fenlin watched steam curl from his mask as he tore the veil from her, splitting it in two so it fell to either side of her. His hands, so large and strong, grabbed her around the waist and tossed her back onto the dias.

One of his hands held down her arms, the other slid up her waist, leaving behind a trail of heat on her skin. His snout- the mask, pressed into the hollow of her neck, and she could smell the smoke and musk on this skin as he breathed in her spice.

This... this was a very different kind of blood magic, Fenlin realised through a thickening fog of heartbeats, fire and lust. An old, old magic that was too powerful to stop now. Even if she'd wanted to.