Because one project wasn't enough, and this AU prompt from the kinkmeme inspired me...

This one requires a little explaining. So...in this world, the boat from Seheron had room for one more, and so Fenris never escaped Danarius. Several years later, the Champion and company are on the run after Anders's little stunt at the Chantry. They head to Tevinter (where better to hide three apostates?) and run into a certain slave...

Warning: this contains violence and references to rape, so please read with caution.

New note: I am no longer continuing this story. I was never entirely happy with it, so I am re-writing it to be closer to my original vision for this AU. If you're interested, check out my story "Grace." Thanks to everyone who's read this and reviewed it! I hope you like the new one!

Fenris wasn't sure what he'd expected from Danarius's new apprentice, but it certainly wasn't this. He'd heard Hadriana bitching about the "Ferelden barbarian" for weeks now, and was wondering if Danarius had taken this new apprentice just to spite her and the other magisters. So he'd been expecting some large, hairy beast of a man, not this small graceful woman.

She was plain compared to Hadriana, who wore elaborately embroidered robes that fell to the floor and whose hair was always perfectly coiffed. But she was beautiful in her simplicity, brown hair falling to her waist, emerald green eyes and full ruby lips the only jewelry she really needed.

Danarius greeted her in his grand hall, smiling widely, which made Hadriana scowl. He noticed her eyes falling on him, tracing his markings like everyone else did. It made him stiffen, just a bit—he hated the scrutiny, the magisters discussing his value and the experiments Danarius had been able to do with him. But when Danarius presented him, with a flourish, and described his markings, he saw horror in her eyes, and…was it sympathy?

He followed his master down the hall to the dinner table, which had been set with a lavish feast. His mouth watered as he looked over the meal, but it was not for him. His duty was to stand behind Danarius's chair, a silent and intimidating guard. He watched the new apprentice pick at her food, frowning, throwing glances his way when she thought he wouldn't notice. He tried to hate her like he hated all magisters, but it wasn't the same, somehow.

"So I hear you're a spirit healer," said Hadriana, in a tone that clearly implied an insult.

"I am," replied the new apprentice, smiling. Hawke…her name was Hawke. Named after an animal, like himself.

"That must be…useful." Hadriana's sarcasm and contempt were clear.

"It is," said Hawke. "I can teach you, if you'd like to learn." Her tone was just as cold as Hadriana's, and her words just as carefully crafted to insult. Perhaps she did belong among the magisters after all.

Hadriana laughed, but it was clear the insult hit its mark. I can do something you can't, Hawke had said in so many words.

"Your skills will…complement each other," said Danarius, looking over his two apprentices. He grinned.

"And we are lucky to have you to guide us," said Hadriana, her tone the syrupy sweet she adopted when flattering Danarius. He saw through her flattery—but that did not mean he didn't like it.

"Come, ladies," said Danarius. "Let's adjourn to the sitting room. I have much to discuss with both of you." He turned to Fenris. "Bring a bottle of wine…the Aggregio I think."

As Fenris walked away, he heard Danarius speaking to Hawke. "Most loyal bodyguard, and skilled in…all manner of things." Hawke's response was too soft to hear, her voice lilting and gentle. Fenris stood still long enough to hear Danarius laugh. "Ah, I forgot," said the magister, "you Ferelden barbarians are so unused to the convenience of slaves."

Fenris poured the wine for them, the red liquid pooling in the thick crystal glasses. He could not help but watch Hawke's graceful fingers curl around the stem, lift the glass to her lips.

Unused to the convenience of slaves? Did that mean she did not keep slaves herself? He wondered about this for the rest of the evening, until the three adjourned to their rooms, the two apprentices to the guest quarters. He followed Danarius back to the luxurious master bedroom.

"Imagine, no slaves," said Danarius, chuckling. "Ah, this Fereldan and her customs. She'll be amusing, at the very least. I'm afraid she probably won't survive long here. More's the pity."

Fenris helped Danarius out of his clothes and hung them up in the closet.

"Hadriana's already looking to take her down," said Danarius, "and I'm afraid she probably doesn't have the mettle to stand up to her." He chuckled again. "A spirit healer! How quaint."

He turned back to Fenris. "I require some services tonight," he said. "Strip and get on the bed."

Fenris raised his hands to comply and then let them fall back at his sides, leaden, limp. He thought of the new apprentice and for some reason he could not bring himself to obey. His insides were sick with fear, so much so he was nearly shaking, and yet he could not force himself to kneel on the bed.

"Now, Fenris," said Danarius, his voice dropping into the register that meant danger to any of his slaves.

Fenris said nothing and did not move. Inside his head he screamed, but to an outsider it would seem as though he were a statue.

Suddenly magical tendrils wrapped themselves around his wrists, raising them above his head. Other tendrils rooted his feet to the ground. He could not move, could barely breathe because he knew what came next.

Danarius took a whip from his drawers and undid Fenris's armor so that he was completely naked. The tendrils forced him to kneel over the bed, and Danarius knelt behind him.

Danarius did not speak, but Fenris could hear him panting, from anger or excitement or both he could not say.

From the moment the whip first touched his flesh, he knew his master had lost control. He had been beaten before, but never so horribly. He had been raped before, but never so violently. He lost consciousness once or twice only to wake again to more pain until it felt as though there was not a single spot on his body that didn't scream with agony. Danarius's floor and bed were covered in blood, and dimly through the pain Fenris worried how angry the master would be when he realized the mess.

"Stand up," said Danarius, and Fenris struggled to comply. He bent over and threw up on the floor, unable to help himself.

"Crawl then, if that suits you," said Danarius, and Fenris complied, his knees raw against the thick carpet as he followed Danarius through the hallway towards the guest wing of the house. Fear bloomed again in his stomach. Danarius was taking him to Hadriana for more punishment, he was certain. And in the state he was in now, Hadriana would surely kill him.

But they did not turn to Hadriana's room, but to the door across from it. Danarius knocked, and after a few minutes, a sleepy looking Hawke answered.

"I have need of your…talents," said Danarius, gesturing to Fenris.

Hawke's eyes widened as she saw him on the floor, and he could see in her gaze just how bad his injuries must be.

"Of course," she said. "You may leave him here. You must need rest after such exertion," she said to Danarius, who turned on his heel and left without giving Fenris a second glance.

"Oh, Maker," Hawke whimpered, and cast a spell on him. Fenris did not like having magic cast on him, but this spell actually made the pain lessen a fair bit. With her help he was able to stand, and she guided him over to the bed.

"Lay down," she said, her voice so soft.

"I'll get it messy," he managed to say, his voice rough.

"Don't worry about that," she said. "Just rest."

He lay on his stomach. She cast a spell and before he knew it, he had drifted into a deep sleep.

When he awoke, his pain was an ache, not a scream, and someone was touching him. He pretended to be asleep, forcing himself to breathe deeply despite the fear of not knowing where he was or whose hands were on his back. Slowly it came back to him…the beating, the apprentice. Her hands were soft and warm, they were rubbing some type of lotion on his back. He had never been touched like this, by soft comforting hands, and it felt incredible. It was almost worth the ache he still felt to receive such attentions.

After a while the hands stopped, and he finally forced himself to open his eyes and struggle to sit up.

"Let me help you," said Hawke. She touched him again and he sighed, it felt so nice, even though she was just helping him sit up and stacking pillows behind him for him to lean on.

"How do you feel?" she asked. He saw real concern in her eyes.

"Much better," he said. "You are amazing."

"Fenris, I…" she turned as there was a knock on the door.

"How is my little wolf?" came Danarius's voice through the door.

"He lives," said Hawke, "but he's still terribly weak. He needs more healing and I need food. Have a slave bring me some breakfast."

Fenris stiffened. Her voice had gone from the gentle tone of a healer to the cruel cadence of a magister. But when she turned back to him she was gentle again, sweet. She brushed the hair from his face and ran a hand over his cheek. He was shocked when he looked up at her and saw tears in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Fenris," she said. "What happened?"

He shook his head. He couldn't tell her. He turned away, afraid she might be angry.

"It's okay," she said.

The slave knocked on the door with breakfast. Hawke picked up the tray and set it in front of him. He stared at the food, uncertain of what she wanted.

"Go ahead," she said. "Eat."

He did not wait for her to tell him twice—or worse, change her mind. Hadriana's visit meant he had not eaten much in the last few days, and now that his pain had subsided somewhat, he realized he was ravenous.

Hawke sat at the small table in the room, mixing potions. They smelled sweet, even from the bed, unlike Danarius's vile concoctions. She brought him one when he finished his meal.

"Drink this," she said. "It will help, but it will also put you to sleep for a while. That's probably for the best, though, sleep will speed your healing."

He wanted to say no. He did not want to sleep, not when he had only a few more precious hours in her company before he would be returned to his master.

She misread the hesitation in his eyes.

"I won't hurt you," she said, and her hand came up to cup his cheek. He leaned his head slightly against her palm, drinking in the touch as though he were dying of thirst—which perhaps he was.

He nodded and drank the potion.

He woke to someone curled around his back, holding his wrists with a gentle but firm grip. He started and pulled away, alarmed and ready to fight, glowing blue as he drew power from his markings. He whirled around to face his adversary…

But it was only the apprentice, looking…was it ashamed?

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to startle you. You were thrashing in your sleep and I didn't want you to open any of your wounds."

She did look genuinely sorry, and it surprised him. It surprised him even more when she walked up to him, her eyes glimmering with unspilled tears, and put her palm against his cheek again.

"Fenris," she said, "I'm so sorry. I wish I could protect you."

He could not bear to see her so sad. He put on what he hoped was a brave face and gave her a tentative smile.

"You've already done so much for me," he said. "I thank you." He wanted to touch her but he did not dare. Despite all the kindness she'd shown him, she was still a magister's apprentice, and an unwanted gesture could mean punishment. So instead he walked to the door, still amazed that he could walk given the beating he'd taken last night, and went back to Danarius.