Archive of Our Own ^beta

The ground is cold where he lays, a small elven boy no older than 8. He’s battered and thin, with dark skin and big hazel eyes dulled from his experiences. He clings to the hand of another girl; her hand is colder than his, and he can’t bring himself to look at her face. If he looks at her face, he’ll have to acknowledge that she’s not there beside him any longer. The other slaves around him are huddled in corners, some scrambled together searching for the body heat of another person to stay warm - but he cannot look away from her. His sister, only two years younger. His sister, who they beat half to death for speaking up. His sister, who slowly bled out beside them all, who screamed in agony, before  growing quieter and stiller, until finally he had no tears left to shed. He closes his eyes, holds her cold hand tighter. He can’t help but wonder if his fate could be worse than hers. 

He hears yelling, and the slaves all scramble to their feet, waiting for orders, shivering where they stand. The yells turn to screams and curses, spells thrown out in the midst of battle; but the air is filled with mist and smoke, and the slaves can see nothing but each others puzzled expressions. The boy sits still, hand still in his sisters. He looks back at her now, wondering if he is about to join her, wherever she is. Her bloodied face is mangled, her mouth slack. He brushes some loose hairs out of her face, wipes the blood away from her eyes. She looks almost like she’s sleeping, if you can ignore the dent in her skull and the bulging black eye. 

A scuffle nearby distracts his attention, and he looks up to see the glimmer of lightning magic travelling through the air, before stuttering out accompanied by a gurgling screech. The magic ceases entirely, and the screams come to a holt. The slaves try to squint through the smoke, searching for whoever is responsible for the demise of their master. Perhaps another magister has come to take them away. The boy looks up just as the smoke clears, to see a pair of uncovered tanned feet making their way towards them. Some of the slaves gasp, others look on, utterly shocked at their saviour. He steps forward, exiting the smoke completely. He goes not look at them, not yet; he gets to work quickly on unlocking the cage they’ve been put in for transportation. The slaves begin to murmur, comments about his white hair and strange tattoos; wondering if the scowl on his face means that they will receive the same fate as their masters. The boy looks up at him as he opens the cage door, finally addressing them all.

“Your masters are dead. You are all free to go."

The slaves do not move, so he speaks once more. “I am Fenris. Loot whatever you wish and get away from here.” 

Slowly, the freed slaves begin to make their way out of the cage, each staring at their saviour with wonder. They speak softly as they leave, a quiet ‘thank you’ that softens his expression as each passes. Finally, it is just the boy and his dead sister left in the cage. He stares up at Fenris. Fenris stares back. 

“You should leave before others come,” Fenris tells him. 

The boy looks back at his sister, still dead beside him. “You’re strong,” he whispers.

“Yes."

“You saved us."

“Yes."

“If I had been as strong as you, I could have saved my sister.” He tells him.

Fenris takes a step closer to him, and holds out a hand. “Your sister’s death is not your fault. IF you must put the blame on anyone, it is the magisters who murdered her.” 

The boy looks at his hand. “I should have stepped in-"

“You did what you had to to stay alive,” Fenris tells him. “And you must continue to do so."

The boy ponders for a moment. His freedom had not yet sunk in, but as the smoke continued to clear, he saw the faces of his dead masters and felt a weight so heavy in his chest begin to lift. “You killed them all.” He whispers.

“Yes. They deserved to die."

“But we do not."

“No. Never."

Fenris’ hand is still outstretched and waiting. The boy swallows, before he lets go of his sister’s ice cold hand. The feeling of Fenris’ large warm hand gives him the strength to walk out of the cage without a glance back. Fenris makes to let go, but the boy holds on. Fenris regards him with a soft look. “You should accompany the others. Stick together, and you may survive."

“No,” the boy says. 

“Why not?"

“I want to go with you."

Fenris blinks a few times in confusion, before frowning. “Me?"

“Yes,” he says. 

“You cannot,” he tells him. “I’m hunting slavers. If you were to accompany me, you would end up dead faster than a fennel fox.” 

“Please."

“No.” He takes his hand from the boys and takes a step away. 

“I’ll grow strong,” he says. “You can teach me."

Fenris shakes his head, before making he way over to the exit. 

“I can help you.” The boy says, holding his own hands. “I can heal you if you get hurt. I - I’ll do whatever you want -"

“No.” Fenris tells him. “Then you are in no better life than the one I have freed you from."

“I have magic,” the boy mutters, staring at his feet. Fenris’ head whips around. “I - I don’t want to end up in one of those circle thingys. I’m not very good but I - I tried to heal my sister before - I fixed her broken arm."

“You fixed a broken arm?” Fenris stares in wonder. The boy nods. Fenris tightens his jaw, before looking away again. “Regardless, you would still be more endangered with me than anyone else."

“Fenris!” A voice calls, and the boy looks over to where the doors exiting the mansion have opened. A human stares at his saviour, dark hair and a beard, dressed in nothing the boy has ever seen before. He has a staff on his back, and the boy feels panic well up inside of him. Another magister? Has he missed his chance to escape? He hides behind Fenris, fingers digging into his belt tightly. Fenris does not pull his sword from his back, nor does he look like he attempts to fight at all. The man continues to swagger towards him, babbling about the loot he’s found inside. 

“I found this giant golden crown with a golden dragon woven around it. Tevinters, eh? Obsessed, the lot of them-"

“Hawke,” Fenris starts, making Hawke pause. “You’re going to scare him."

“Scare who?” He asks, before his eye catches the small head poking out from behind Fenris’ legs. Hawke feels a grin slide onto his face. “Looks like I brought you round to the idea of kids after all."

“No, I simply -"

“Who is he?” The boy whispers, and Fenris blinks down at him again. He turns around to face the child, bending down so they’re eye level. 

“This is Hawke,” Fenris says. “He helped me kill your masters.” 

“Oh,” the boy says. “So he’s good? He’s not a…"

“Not a magister,” Fenris finishes for him. 

The boy nods, before taking Fenris’ hand again without asking. Fenris frowns at this, but does not attempt to pull back his hand. The boy turns to Hawke, who has been watching with amusement. “I’m coming with you."

“Are you now?” Hawke asks, smiling.

“Yes,” he replies. “Fenris will teach me to be strong. And I can heal him."

“Heal?” Hawke questions, before realisation dawns. “You have magic?"

The boy nods. Hawke looks between him and Fenris’ stern expression.

Hawke bites his lip. “Come on, we have to keep him now."

“Hawke, it’s not safe for a child to be-"

“We’ll protect him. We protect each other, don’t we?"

“That’s different, we’re both capable of fighting - he’s a child-"

“A child that could end up in the hands of the wrong people again.” Hawke says seriously, and with the way Fenris’ expression falls, he knows he’s got him. 

Fenris sighs. “This will not end well."

Hawke comes closer, crouching in front of the boy with a huge smile. “I’m Hawke. I’m a mage too. What’s your name?"

The boy gives him a small smile. “Soren.” 

“Well Soren, what do you say about getting out of here? I promise Fenris isn’t as grumpy as he seems,” Hawke teases. He stands up straight, and holds out his hand.

Soren holds tighter onto Fenris’ hand, before reaching out for Hawke’s. He nods and walks to the exit with them at his sides. He faintly hears the voice of his sister as he makes his way to freedom.