Fiat Justitia

ÿþThere was a crash in the servant's kitchen and Anders looked up from his writing, willing the lamp brighter. The fires had dimmed hours ago and the slaves were in their rooms - there was little cause for noise. His study was close to their as the main wing was repaired, making him all the more aware of their goings on. Summoning a magelight, Anders silently proceeded down the hall, waving a dismissive hand to the elf that appeared in the door to the slave quarters, "I will handle it."
"Yes, master," the young man replied, his eyes downcast.
"You needn't call me that," Anders said, hesitating. "You are your own man now."
"Yes... sir," the elf bowed his head, before turning back into the rooms.
In a moment, Anders stepped into the kitchen, and seeing movement by the fire, hissed the quick command. Darkened miasma obscured his hand, and there was an arrested breath as the intruder was paralysed at his command. "You should still be able to speak. Identify yourself."
"It's me, you arse," a woman hoarsely replied.
"Hawke," Anders said with mild surprise, easily countermanding the spell to let her move. "What are you doing here? I thought you were on a job."
"You know about that?" she replied, limping into the firelight. She was clutching her gut, and sputtered a breath. It sounded wet. "I thought to come bleed on your floor a bit. You know how it goes."
Anders sighed and stepped forward to catch her as she crumpled, "I take it it didn't go well?"
"Would you believe me if I said it went better for me?" Hawke choked, her legs giving out. "How does it go - you should see the other guy?"
"Is he dead?"
"Yes," Hawke strained, closing her eyes in pain as Anders urged her back to her feet. "In the bed of Archon Remus own mistress no less."
"Hah," Anders shook his head, and they hobbled slowly down the hall. He glanced further into the manner before bolting the door and hurrying to where she'd slumped on the ground.
With scarce a word, the lamps about the room flared bright, and Hawke hissed, "Maker, damned the light."
"And here I thought you broke in the back door to seek healing," Anders murmured, tugging open her shredded armour with knowing ease.
"Maybe I'd prefer something else in the back door," she murmured, choking off on the sound as a freed buckle let her bleed more profusely. "Or not. I... Maybe those lamps aren't bad, are they going out..."
"Hawke - Marian, stay with me," Anders said, lightly smacking her cheek. When her head lolled, he sighed and let his hands drift down her body. The blood tugged at his command, and she groaned as the lacerations knit together. When she sighed and the tension eased from her, the blue glow in his eyes dissipated and he looked down on her. He held the mage-light in his hand, looking in her eyes and turning her chin, "How many fingers?"
"Two in me, please," Marian murmured, grinning as he shook his head. With some lethargy, she snagged his robe and pulled him into her lips. Sighing, she forced it deeper twining their tongues as she lay on the floor.
Anders pulled back, wiping his lips on the sleeve of his robe, "Let me wipe the blood first next time, mmm?"
"It isn't sexy?" Hawke said as she tried to sit up, prompting a groan. "Remind me no to do that."
Kissing her hair, Anders cradled her neck and whispered, "Thank you for doing this."
"It's the least I can do," Hawke replied, and she huffed as he helped her up and stripped her down. "You've done a great deal for my sister."
"She is a bright young woman," Anders replied, easing her arms out of the padded under armour, discarding it on the floor. The servants would tend to it in morning. "A good heart, and very powerful. An unlikely combination."
"There's you," Hawke looked up to him, cradling an arm over the half-healed wounds.
Anders almost rolled his eyes and helped her back to the bed, retrieving a salve from his apothecary supplies to apply to her skin. Sitting against her on the bed, he plied it over her skin to seal the last of the wounds and ease her bruises. "Us Fereldens need to stick together."
"I like the sound of that," Hawke murmured, grinning as he shook his head again.
"Is that all I am to you," Anders sniffed dramatically.
"A cock?" Hawke sighed, putting her hand over his. "Goodness, no, you're also a damned good healer." When he chuckled, she added, "And you warm my bed better than a mabari."
"How kind of you to say," Anders murmured, and when he tried to rise, she pulled him back close.
"I kill for you, how much does that mean?" Hawke whispered, rolling her hips to press her leg up against his loins. Her lips found his neck, and Anders tilted into her, kissing her roughly. Their tongues meshed, and her fingers pulled at his robes to shuck them onto the floor, leaving him in thin britches.
Hawke sucked a breath through her teeth as the remnants of her injuries twinged, but Anders was oblivious as he tugged open her chemise. The cloth was thick with sweat, and his mouth found her breast, tasting the salt of her exertion. Hawke closed her eyes, rolling into his body as his tongue flecked, giving way to teeth that teased her nipple hard.
"Will this suffice in payment for your work?" Anders murmured against her skin, tugging her smalls over her thighs to run his hand over the mount of her sex.
"I'll have to see what you're offering first," Hawke murmured. "Don't care to short change myself."
Tilting up to her mouth once more, Anders slid his fingers down through her wet lips, kissing her above as he teased them in below. Hawke moaned into his mouth, beckoning the kiss as he settled into a deep rhythm, stroking in the tight passage of her sex. She dug her heels into the bed, scrunching the blankets down as he fingered her, a slow fuck that lit the fire as he bit her bottom lip and kissed her with need.
"Yes," Hawke hissed as his fingers hit deep, a knowing wiggle that pressed the swollen nub of her G-spot with each rhythmic flick. His teeth were in her neck then, the hardness of his cock against her thigh.
"Or more yet," Anders murmured against her skin, listening to the hastening breaths and pitching clips of air that his affections wrought. She was lithe, her hair jet black and cut short for ease of her craft. He adored the olive hue of her skin, the smell of her sex and the sweat on her skin. Even the blood that mingled, the hint of terror in knowing she had killed those he wished.
"Yes," Hawke sighed again, back tensing and lifting her from the bed, pressing her hips into his hand. He squeezed her ass, fingers buried to the hilt as his muscles tensed to fuck her in this simple way. With his other hand, he undid the britches and kicked them away, knocking more of the bedsheets with them. She nearly purred with pleasure and want, "All of it."
Anders pulled his fingers out, smearing the wetness through the dark curls of hair on her sex. When she groaned, he put the hand over her mouth, filling her nostrils with the heady scent of her arousal, and she writhed. Hawke opened her eyes half lidded as she reached for him, fingers gliding up his shaft, and he scarce acknowledged it as he reached for the vial of oil on the bedside table.
Their eyes met as he tipped it into her hand, and she cupped the oil over his cock, stroking and plying the loose skin around the reddened head. Anders eyes bowed a moment, and he leaned forward to kiss her once more. As they met with need, he bit her lip, pressing her tongue in a play for power, soon nibbling over her neck and catching her ear.
"Turn over," he panted, and her fingers released his throbbing cock.
Hawke met his eyes as she turned with a feline elasticity, clawing the pillow to pin it under her stomach and angle her ass towards him. Anders sighed, dragging his still damp fingers down her back, fingers wrinkled from the wetness of her sex. She dropped her head on the pillow as those fingers plied over the tight button, her breath shuddering as he slowly eased on into her ass.
"Yes," Hawke breathed, her arm wrapping over her head and tangling in her hair.
Anders watched the tension up her spine as he worked his fingers slowly in, listening to the shifts in her breath as he plied another finger in. Holding them there, he wiggled in the same way he had in her cunt, leaning forward to press against her back. "I could make this easier for you... but there is something about how you squirm."
"Maker, Anders... " Hawke's breath hitched again as he pressed his fingers deeper before drawing them out. His lips and tongue slipped along her ear as the head of his cock nudged the scarce loosed ring of her ass. "Yes."
"It's irresistible," he purred, sitting up the press her shoulder to the bed. Pinning her like this, roused the spirit within him. There was resistant to the illusion of her forced submission to him - and it made his loins throb. He had learned well enough to rein the power of the spirit, to bend it to his will - it would be the power here.
"Please, Anders," Hawke buried her face against the bed, shuddering as he teased and stretched that unwelcoming hole. "Fuck my ass... fuck me."
How could he resist such pleading from the strong-willed rogue? There was a flutter in his heart, as much as the throb in his cock, and Anders' fingers slid up her neck to hold her in place as he eased his oiled shaft into her tight backside. She groaned out heavily, shuddering, and her muscles tightened around him, halting the egress. Hissing he gave his hips the needed thrust, hips flush to her ass and buried to the base.
Anders shook his hair back, the ties having come loose, and tensing his thighs he whispered the words, and ran his hand down her spine. There was the soft spark of light at his fingertips, and Hawke twitched back into him, jerking herself back against his cock and prompting a groan and a muffled laugh. He closed his eyes, feeling the tight squeeze around the throb of his pulse in his shaft, before willing himself into a rhythm, a slow fuck that drew out her sighs and growing pleading against the bed.
Hawke's hand slinked between her thighs as she pressed her face into the bed, presenting her ass to Anders' thrusts. The tensile pleasure in her loins skipped stronger as she flicked across her clit, filled to the brink ink her backside. Gasping for air, she shuddered as the crackles of magic twitched her spine and hips again, body rocking with the smack of his hips.
Plying her hips, Anders watched Hawke's free hand snake to the headboard, gripping it as he heard her uttered encouragement amidst pants. Eyes nearly rolling back, he gripped her shoulder with his free hand and fell into a frantic pace, the well of pleasure rolling up through his gut as she cried out, the sound muffling into the bed. Soon enough, his seed spilt, easing the way in the tight passage, and he panted hard, leaning over her.
"Fuck," Hawke panted, softening forward into the bed as she shuddered heavily, pulse hard in her chest and still fluttering with the oblivion of her orgasm. It left her arms almost numb, and her heartbeat throbbed in her loins, lips there thick and wet. She smeared her fingers over them, shivering again with remnants of pleasure. She sighed heavily as Anders rejuvenated them, and he pulled out to collapse on the bed beside her.
Panting into the bed, they lay there for a time before Hawke turned her head to look at him. He was watching her, a subtle sheen of sweat on his skin. She pulled the pillow from her stomach and tucked it under her head, lethargically dragging herself into his arm. Anders held her against him, their bodies radiating heat in the low light. She had scarce noticed the lamps dimming.
"So," Hawke whispered in a huffed breath. Anders tilted his cheek against her forehead, and she closed her eyes. "Who is next on my list. I could get used to this."
Anders chuckled and wrapped his other arm around her, still breathing heavily as he kissed her temple and cheek, "Perhaps the most challenging. Magister Danarius."
"Mmm," Hawke murmured, growing heavy and satiated in his arms. "I like a challenge." ===***===***===***===***===***===***===***===*** The elves moved around the large oval table, removing dishes and wiping spills with nary a word as the mages conversed. Hawke stood in her appointed place by the window, hands clasped behind her back as she kept an eye on everyone's hands, and a curious second glance at the painted elf that moved with precise grace to refill the mages' wine.
Hawke bit her tongue, recalling her conversation with Anders at his apartments prior to the dinner. That she were allowed to attend was exceptional in itself, but impertinence or any improper actions on her part would not be tolerated - it could be life threatening, in fact. Danarius was known for his strict methods and sadistic pleasures. He valued his control almost as much as his magical abilities - the more of each, the happier he was.
A small waif of an elf had taken her daggers at the door, speaking in a willowy voice before whisking away out of sight. A pity that her daggers were seen as the threat - they didn't need to know the years spent in Antiva as her father led them to Tevinter, and the combat instruction she received in payment for his services as a healer. Even armour scarce impeded her - disabling templars in full plate was a particular favourite of hers.
Something she hadn't needed to do in years.
From his place at the table, Anders eyes drew to the tattooed elf as he leaned close and refilled his goblet. He lifted the glass and said, "Thank you."
"Anders," Hadriana chuckled from her place at the magister's side. "Ever the novelty - I truly never tire of foreign mages finding a home here."
Anders raised his brow, lips parting as he hesitated drinking. Smiling as was needed, he said, "Have I done something amusing again? Without even trying, I'm getting good."
Danarius fingered the edge of his goblet, and the elf returned to refill his glass. The magister scarce looked at him as he took it up, "She means your courtesy to the elves."
"That we even have to speak of it," another female mage lightly laughed. "Where are you from."
"Ferelden," Anders replied, taking a sip of the wine. It was good, and he licked it from his lips. "This is delightful."
"Aggregio Pavali, 1199." Hadriana replied with pride, swirling her own glass.
"The rumours say that it was such a fine year because of the dragons," Danarius idly mused, and the other two mages chuckled. Their apprentices joined as well.
"Anders was trained in the Circle there," Hadriana emphasized, watching him across the table. "No doubt he feels a kinship for the enslaved."
Anders chuckled darkly, his eyes dropping as the crackle of energy beneath his skin was quelled with a thought, "Perhaps I was merely thankful he didn t spill any."
"Something my Fenris would never do," Danarius replied, not bothering to look as the elf returned to his station behind him.
"And you must excuse me, I have never seen tattoos such as those," Anders continued, before adding, "He has a palpable presence."
"Lyrium," Danarius replied with a smug grin. "It is lyrium etched into his skin. He is my most valued possession."
The conversation continued amicably and false, Hawke listening to each word from where she stood, her eyes now following Fenris. It was obvious he was a formidable warrior, each limb and muscle honed to a fine perfection  and the tattoos only accentuated it. He moved wholly with the purpose of his master's will, before standing stoic and menacing in the wings. He had a presence unlike the other slaves. It was only once he glanced her way, his eyes were stone. ===***===***===***===***===***===***===***===*** The conclave dispersed at the word of the Imperial Archon, and Anders gathered his notes with a simple swipe of his hand. Handing them to the servant at his side, he rose and filed down through the curia. He paid what attention was needed to those who came his way, polite but cold  it was a mask he had learned out of necessity.
Through the pillared halls, Anders swept with the young elf at his side, and weaving through the crowd it seemed no time at all till he was halted by her fearful gasp.
"Eheu," came the reply, and there was the sharp smack of skin as the lady mage struck the slave down. "Mind your feet, servus."
"I beg your forgiveness, mistress," the girl replied, falling to her knees as she gathered the dropped satchel. She left Anders papers on the cobbles as she proffered it to the woman.
"Hadriana," Anders said, inclining his head as he took the satchel and placed it in the apprentice's hands.
"A pleasure," Hadriana replied, inclining her head. With a flick of her wrist, a reed from her sleeve slapped across the elf's hands. "Retrieve the papers. You insult your master."
"I-I am sorry mistress," the girl stammered as she cowed down and collected the parchment threatening to blow away. "Master, please forgive me!"
"It is alright," Anders said with tempered ease. He glanced to his fellow mage, voice hardening, "I will not see you discipline my servants again."
"Then keep your chattel in line," Hadriana replied, swinging her satchel over her shoulder before continuing into the street.
"Here," Anders said, stooping to gather the parchment. He thrust it into her arms as she cringed away from him, extending her hands for him. When no hit came, she tilted her head the other way. He sighed, "Rise. We go home."
Walking slow enough to ensure she kept up, Anders kept his head down until they had reached his apartments. They were still in the proper quarter, but closer to the sea. From the rooftop gardens, he could see the water on a good day  something that reminded him of the joy of being free.
"I am sorry, master," the girl repeated once they were inside, hanging her head.
"Think nothing of it, Fiona," Anders replied, motioning deeper in the house. "Put them in my study, then see if your mother needs you."
It had been a long day of discussions. He was low on the rung, but that only meant it necessitated his presence at the weekly conclaves all the more. He needed information, his face needed to be known  and though he had already defeated two magisters to earn the seat, he was a foreigner. They did not know his true potential, and without the contacts, he was isolated still. But it would not keep him from affecting what small things he could  from bettering what lives he could.
In time, he would do more.
Upstairs onto the flat tiled roof, he found Hawke conversing with her sister and mother. She rose at seeing him, light footed to take his side and pull his cheek in for a kiss.
"I missed you," she said with a daisy smile.
"Entirely mutual," he replied, planting a chaste kiss on her nose. "Where is Carver?"
Hawke's expression lost its mirth as she led him back to her family, "Off being himself."
Leandra shook her head, a hand over her mouth before she said, "He's gone to fight the Qunari."
"There was nothing we could do, mother," Bethany said, taking her hand. She looked up to Anders, "I wish I had known more regarding the fealty requirements."
Anders sighed and sat down on one of the wood benches, and Hawke joined him as he spoke, "He is low ranked in the city guard. It only serves to reason he would be conscripted into the war."
"I know," Leandra said, shaking her head again. "Maker, I know."
"His pension will keep you and Bethany both," Hawke impressed, crossing one leg over the other. "Perhaps even foot the bribes to find you a proper apprenticeship, sister."
"I cannot rightly take you on in a more official capacity," Anders spoke before she could reply. "There are good people in this city. I have been canvassing for someone you would be paired well with."
"If only your father were here," Leandra quietly said.
"Carver knows which end to wave around," Hawke light-heartedly said. "He'll be happy, mother. You know how much he enjoys stabbing things." She made a peculiar face at Anders before grinning and holding her tongue.
"It will do well for your standing in the city," Ander said, after rolling his eyes at Hawke.
"As will some work I ve lined up," Hawke nodded, before putting her hand over Anders'. "Things will work out for the best."