Dragon Age 1. Chapter 1 : Waking Up in Hell

Title: Surviving Fort Drakon

Author: Ryoko Metallium

**Author's Notes: I was really really hesistant on whether or not to write this story in the beginning. The idea came to me when I was going over some of the old conversation with everyone's favorite dwarf and how he was explain what it takes to be a berserker. How one has to find the one thing that really makes them angry and use it to fuel their fighting. Well, it got me thinking : what would it take for Alistair to reach that point where he cannot control his emotions and chooses the lash out? Actually that part was easy but in order for me to really explore that notion, I would have to write something far darker than what I usually do. I would have to really dig deep and pull out all the stops in order to make Alistair, who is usually the most mellow man in the world, a rage-fueled terror. **

**So, let me first be the first to warn you, dear reader, that this story may get a little dark. Just thought I give you a heads up because I love y'all and I don't want to give everyone nightmares.**

**Enjoy!**

**Thanks again too Pancake Beast for finding my previous mistakes!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Dragon Age: Origins. It is the property of Electronic Arts and Bioware Inc. I do not own these characters. I am only borrowing them; I promise that I'll give them back.**

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**Chapter One: Waking Up in Hell**

There was screaming everywhere.

Screams of agonizing pain, of terrible sorrow that comes deep down from the pit of the soul and screams of those who were begging for death. There seemed to be no end to it, even unconscious she could hear it. For a second, she thought that she was having another nightmare. That was until she smelt the choking, putrid smell of rotting flesh and tasted coppery blood at the back of her tongue. The air felt burning hot with smoke and fire, the ground was cold and hard as stone, and for some reason her head was pounding like a war drum. She opened her eyes slowly and tried to sit up, only to be reward with a blinding blast of pain shooting straight into her brain like a hot poker. Vertigo set it followed by nausea that threatened to surface. All around, she found herself surrounded by tall iron bars; a cage of some sort.

Just where in the Maker's name was she anyway?

"Oh, thank the maker you're finally awake," she heard a comforting voice say. Something cool and wet pressed gently to her forehead, cooling her skin against the blistering heat. Through the unclear haze of her vision, Lady Cousland blinked once and saw a blurred outline of her fellow Gray Warden standing over her. She blinked again, and was surprised to see that his normally composed demeanor was strained with deep concern. He was holding her against him, his board arms tucked under her back cradling her body with the utmost of care as if he were afraid she'd shatter. His rough hands quietly caressed her skin, brushing a few loose strains of hair behind her ears as he dabbed her sweating brow with a wet washcloth.

She also happened to notice that not only was he bare-chest and practically nude, but so was she. The two of them were stripped clean out of their armor and clothing, leaving nothing but their undergarments to cover their naughty bits.

Yeah…awkward.

"I was starting to get a little worried there for a minute," he said, dripping the cloth into a small bucket of water beside him. "You've been out of it for a quite awhile now. How do you feel?"

"Alistair," she groaned. Her voice came out dry as she painfully tried to swallow. "Where are we? And why are we naked?"

The Grey Warden chuckled and his boyish smile crept across his face, looking relieved. Seeing somehow lessened the pain throbbing in her temple. "It's nice to see that that blow to the head didn't alter your attention to detail any. I'm relieved."

He dipped the cloth back into the bucket of water, rang it out and continued wiping down her skin. She winced slightly when he rubbed to close to a large black and blue bruise by her temple. "Sorry," he apologized as his eyes soften with unease. "They hit you pretty hard here. It's going to be sore here for awhile. Think you can stomach something to drink?"

"I'll try." He helped the Lady Cousland to sit ever so carefully as he brought a chipped cup to the edge of her lips. Even the water was hot as it course down her throat, making it feel even more chapped than before. She swallowed it with some difficulty until her voice was moistened enough for her to speak without rasping. "You didn't answer my question."

"What? Why are we naked?"

"Where are we Alistair?" she asked again, this time soundly a little more annoyed.

"Yeah, about that…hate to break this to you my dear but it appears that we've been taken prisoner. By my guess, we're in Fort Drakon. Lovely place. They've given us the royal suite by the looks of it too. Iron bars, a slap of stone to sleep on, food as old time itself and enough creepy crawly things scurrying around that we'll never be without company. "

Fort Drakon…unless her memory had suffered significantly after getting pummeled by Lohgain's lackeys, she remembered that Fort Drakon was known to be an inescapable prison where criminals go in and never come out. There was no law within the walls. Guards where given free passes to do whatever they pleased to the prisoners, whether it was torture, starvation and any other acts of cruelty. Seeing as how those who were sent to Fort Drakon were viewed by the forgotten trash of Denerium, no one would miss them in the slightest or ever cared if someone happened to turn up dead…Wait…Denerium...?

Oh Maker!

"The Landsmeet!" she cried as she bolted straight up from Alistair's arms. She then gasped loudly as another wave of excruciating pain shot through her gut and radiated throughout her body. Her ribs were like hot knives stabbing her straight into her lungs. She went stiff, wrapping her arms tightly around herself while gasping through the pain for a breath just waiting for it to stop. Obviously that was a bad idea. Her voice sobbed once, she bit her lip so hard it turned white. "Ow ow ow ow owowowowow…"

Alistair was quick at her side, rushing her up against his chest and burying his face into her hair. His arms tightened around her as he closed his eyes and started to rock her back and forth. He shushed her soothingly, hoping that it would somehow make the pain go away faster. "Easy, easy now. Shh shh, just try to breathe through it. It'll pass soon." He kissed her carefully while he cautiously stroked her back. "I think that Cauthrien may have broken some of your ribs."

"Really? What gave it away?" she winced softly, a shudder wracking through her as she lolled her head against Alistair's chest. She curled into herself slowly. Pain was exploding through every fiber and every nerve, making her hiss while she tried tucking herself into Alistair to escape it. "Maker, it hurts…"

"I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry." Alistair couldn't help but grimace with every moan and weakened gasp that uttered from the woman he was trying desperately to bring comfort to. Every whimper made his heart ache. "I should have been watching out for you better." He planted soft kisses to her forehead, careful of the bruises left there. He hated, absolutely hated how small and broken she had been reduced to. This strong-willed and brilliant woman whom he had fallen for over the course of their travels together had been beaten down ruthlessly by a pack of cowards. "I wish I could do more for you. There's nothing here I could use for bandages, and I'm afraid I'm not as will-versed in healing magic as Wynne is. I'm sorry my darling. It kills me to see you like this."

Panting, her muscles began to deconstruct and gradually relax. She was getting dizzy again; closing her eyes as the pain slowly ebbed making her feel tired all over again. Being pressed to Alistair this way was somehow making the agony less noticeable. Her hand pressed gently to his chest, stroking over his tight chest muscles lightly until her palm rested just above his heart feeling every beat. It was almost hypnotic to listen to. "It's alright. This helps; trust me."

With great care, Alistair maneuvered himself as best as he could without cause further discomfort. He tucked his arm underneath her knees, pressing his palm against her back and pulled her to his chest as he carried her to the back of their prison cell. She whimpered slightly from the jostling, resting her arms up to wrap around his neck tightly. Gritted her teeth, her eyes squeezed shut against the pain taking deep breaths to force her body to quiet every cramping muscle. Finding an empty spot to sit, Alistair crouched down and sat with the wounded woman in his cradled securely in his lap. He held her close, resting his cheek on her hairline while he rocked her.

"I forgot to ask if you were alright," she groaned.

"I've been worse. I'll be better still once we get out of here. Don't worry, it's nothing serious. Just a few bumps and bruises, that's all. Those will heal on their own given enough time." Alistair's usual comedic tone dropped several levels, sounding much more serious that she was used to hearing. "I'm more worried about you though. I need to figure out how to get out of here and get you to a healer as soon as possible."

"No," she protested. "What we really need to focus on is getting out and getting you to the Landsmeet. We can't let Loghian ruin everything that we've worked so hard for. We can't…" Cousland inhaled deeply and panted trying to ease the building tension. "We can't let him win Alistair…we just can't."

"Darling, look at me." Alistair caught her chin lightly and brought her face up so she could look at him, to see the severity of his expression. His thumb wiped away the tears of pain that had leaked through during her last tremor. "We will stop Loghian, I promise you that. We will make him pay for everything he has done to you and to me and all the other Grey Wardens. But allow me just this one moment to focus all my attention on taking care of you. Right now, all I'm concerned with is getting you as far away from this place as possible. You're all that matters to me now…"

She opened her mouth to say something, but lost her voice just as quickly just listening to the ferocity of his words. He held her gaze effortlessly, never looking away. Alistair's eyes registered so many emotions; tenderness, anger, guilt and remorse. It was making her heart ache so hard. He cupped her cheek and whispered. His voice almost too quiet for her to hear him. "I love you, and I am going to protect you with everything I have."

"I…I love you too." She could barely manage out the words. The pain had trained her completely of her strength, leaving her frail and weak in Alistair's arms. All that was keeping her from going completely limp was her lover's arms and unwavering strength. Her eyelids felt like stone, unconscious was creeping up on her once again. The blackness was coming, but she didn't fear it while she was within Alistair's embrace. Weakly, she brought her hand up to caress his cheek. He caught her midway and held closely to his face, feeling the warmth of her skin against him. The moment she touched him, it signaled him to take the lead. His lips came close and very gently pressed them to hers. The kiss was light and tender as if Alistair was debating whether or not to continue, but gradually it deepened and soon the two wardens were breathing for each other.

The kiss was utterly devouring.

Alistair was the one to break the searing contact, panting lightly as he pressed her against his throat, his arms curling around her waist in an instinctive protective manner. Neither one spoke. He held her still, his heart racing like mad and his blood pumping in his ears. Truth be told, the would-be king had absolutely no idea how he was going to get them out of Fort Drakon. He wasn't very good in the plan-making department. But one thing was sure – no harm would come to Cousland so long as Alistair still had a breath in his body. No one would touch her again; he swore it. He could feel her body becoming wilted as she was slipping further into sleep. "I'm so tired, Alistair."

"Rest your eyes for awhile then, my love. I'll keep you safe, and in the meantime I'll try to come up with some brilliant escape plan best I can."

"Don't strain yourself then."

He responded with a smirk and another kiss to her forehead. "Nice to see that you haven't lost your clever wit either."

"If we're lucky, we won't have to escape. If we sit tight long enough, maybe someone will come and rescue us."

"Who do you think will come, if you don't mind me asking?"

Cousland shrugged. "Sten, maybe?"

Alistair frowned. "Oh I wish I could see that. One person assaulting Fort Drakon all alone."

"You never know. Maybe he'll bring Oghren with him, or Leilana...or Zev...or..." She closed her eyes, submitting to the darkness as it enclosed her.

Sighing, Alistair rested his back against the cold stone and sighed heavily. "I hope you're right."

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**Author's Notes: I know that this is short and nothing remotely shocking has happened yet, but with good reason. I had wanted to include the next part within the story as I had originally intended, but as the day wore on and I was quickly losing day light, I just decided to hold off and wait. I'm also waiting for the next chapter because as I was writing this, I was also writing the next chapter to "Into a New Age" which should be out soon. Hold tight; I'm working on both stories as fast as I can. Believe me when I say that I want to Alistair lose it just as much as everyone else does. REVIEWS ARE WELCOMED!**


	2. Chapter 2 : Taken

Title: Surviving Fort Drakon

Author: Ryoko Metallium

**Author's Notes: I got to be honest, I truly hated writing this chapter. Not so much of the material of it, which was disturbing enough for me as it is, but there was one factor that I was most worried about. I had wondered if I would be able to write an emotional scene with Alistair where he wasn't the same man as in the game and yet still retain his character. I started thinking of how HE would behave given the situation he found himself and not how others would react. Let me tell you; this involved a lot of research on my part. Listening to audio tracks of not just his lines from the game but lines performed by Steve Valentine in other shows. I guess I wanted to make the ending scene as believeable as possible without making it sound unlike Alistair's character.**

**This wasn't easy but I hope that I did a good enough job with this difficult chapter.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Dragon Age: Origins. It is the property of Electronic Arts and Bioware Inc. I do not own these characters. I am only borrowing them; I promise that I'll give them back.**

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**Chapter Two: Taken**

"_If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money_

_But what I do have are a very particular set of skills_

_Skills that I've acquire over a very long career_

_Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you_

_If you let my daughter go now, that'll be the end of it_

_I will not look for you, I will not pursue you_

_But if you don't I will look for you_

_I will find you_

_And I will kill you"_

_-Liam Neeson "Taken"_

It was quickly becoming evident that any indication of a possible rescue mission was apparently not in the works, judging from the fact that the two wardens had been waiting a good three hours for some kind of an escape. Or was it four? It was hard to tell. Time has a funny way of working against a person when they find themselves incarcerated. Hours can seem like months, months can seem like years; everything slows to an agonizing and torturous crawl. Every second ticks by at its own pace to the point that everything seems frozen in place. Madness finds you, and you are left a screaming, sniffling shell of your former self.

Thankfully Alistair wasn't anywhere near that point yet, just hovering near the border of feeling cooped up and severe cabin fever. There was very little that he could do to relieve his growing anxiety level. He spent most of the time pacing back and forth in his cell to keep busy. He even tried striking up a conversation with the inmate next to him. It was fine until the poor man started to babbling and finally passed out from hunger. He tried calling out to the guards for their attention in hopes they'd give him some more water or food or at the very least give him a chamber pot. It yielded no success. The guards either ignored Alistair or gave him dirty looks and told him to piss off.

Alistair cursed himself, not so much for his predicament but his utter uselessness. He had been trying to come up with an effective plan of escape for hours but regrettably his ingenuity capabilities were gravely limited. In other words, Alistair didn't have a single clue. Even if he did manage to free himself, there were just too many guards to contend with. He wouldn't make it very far. And Arl Eamon wanted to put him on the throne? After raking his brain for another good hour and walking about his cell like a caged rat, Alistair finally had to admit defeat. Throwing his hands up in the air, he let out a loud disgruntled sigh.

In a last ditch effort, he went straight for the bars and tried to rattle them off their hinges. Despite being old and rusty, the bars were iron strong and refused to budge from any sort of effort. Alistair had no weapons on him or he would have picked the lock. At this rate, he would miss the Landsmeet and all effort to expose Loghain as a traitor would be wasted. Damn it; where was that rescue?!

To make matters worse, there were even graver worries plaguing Alistair. He glanced over to the stone slab of a bed and gazed at the curled figure sleeping there. Lady Cousland, who had begun so much more to Alistair than a simple travel companion, wasn't looking any better than when they were captured. She had suffered significant injuries by the hands of Loghain's lieutenant, Ser Cauthrien, including several broken ribs that pained her greatly. Alistair walked quietly over to her, kneeling close to watch her expression as she slept.

Her eyes were squeezed shut as every breath was shuttering with pain. Her face was ghostly white. If it wasn't for the slow breaths she was taking, Alistair would've feared her dead. She had wrapped her arms tightly around her middle, hugging herself in hopes of easing the pain. Sweat had beaded along her forehead. She shivered as if cold. Her entire body had curled inward in a fetal position while she whimpered in her sleep.

Watching the woman he loved go through such suffering was destroying Alistair inside. His heart tore for her, aching in way that was almost unbearable. During their travels he had grown to admire Cousland for her determined strength and will; it's made him fall head over heels in love with her in the first place. He looked to her for guidance at every step and at every turn. But now, he saw her as simply a weak, vulnerable and broken person in need of his care. And the worst part of it all was that there was very little Alistair could do. He possessed no healing magic to speak of, and there was nothing in their cell that he could salvage to treat her. The most he could do was stand by her side, watch over her carefully for any signs that she was slipping and just try to be of any comfort.

He reached out and soothed his hand through the locks of her hair. Her skin felt warm to the touch, which could've been because of the sweltering heat of the prison but still it unnerved him. A soft noise escaped Cousland as her lashes fluttered and she slowly turned her head up. It amazed Alistair that she somehow managed to smile despite the pain she was in.

"You know, I like to think that I've stayed in worst places than this in my lifetime, but then again I would probably be struck down by lightening for telling such an outrageous lie. At least in the Chantry, I never woke and found myself stripped out of my trousers…well, there was that one time…"said Alistair, trying to sound funny for the sake of the tension. He hoped it would help liven the mood some. Cousland made a struggled gasping sound that almost sounded like a small chuckle.

"I venture to guess then that you had to undergo some kind of an initiation when you were sent away?"

"Sort of; nothing short of your average hazing ritual. A few of the other boys staying in the chantry thought they get a good laugh out of making my life a variable hell back when I was young. Particularly out of hiding my clothes in various places around the church. Oh they thought it was hilarious the way I would run around complete bare ass just to find a sock to call my own," he related. "To this day, I still have no idea how they managed to climb all the way up the chapel steeple to hang my leggings like some noble's flag. Kind of impressive now that I think about it."

She started to laugh at Alistair's story but only managed a few gasp heaves that made her wrap her midsection even tighter. Alistair shook his head, looking unusually apologetic. "Sorry. I guess I should've saved that last bit for when you're feeling better."

"It's alright," she replied, gasping slightly. Her smile returned as she gazed back at her lover. "I liked hearing it anyway."

As much as Alistair admired her strength, there were many times that he wished she didn't try to put on such a brave face all the time. Perhaps that was his fault though. Throughout their travels, Alistair hadn't been stepping up to his potential as much as he would like. He had done a lot to shy away from his responsibilities mostly out of fear that he would fail. He was senior warden of the group, and yet his junior had been picking up most of the slack. He could see now that his fears had earned him nothing but misery and hurt those he valued most.

He leaned down and planted a light kiss to her hairline, sighing regrettably. "Come on; time to sit up."

Her face scowled just at the thought of it. "I may throw up on you."

"Yeah, the thought had crossed my mind. But I figured that it might help you to breathe better if you were sitting up than lying down. In that case I'm willing to risk projectile vomiting." His hand stroked down her cheek. He could see the apprehension in her eyes. "Hey, I know you don't want to. I won't lie to you; it's going to hurt and probably a lot. I wish there was some way I could take it all away sweetheart. Truly I do." Alistair nuzzled closely to her, pressed light kisses to her face. "I just….can't stand to hear that wheeze in your lungs anymore. You're struggling with each breath and it's…it'll be hard, I know, but just trust me on this."

They shared a kiss together. Alistair's face grimaced thinking about the agony he was about to inflict on his beloved, he cursed himself for being so useless through this whole ordeal. He said an internal prayer to Andraste to spare her from anymore agony and to give him the strength to protect her. He pulled away and slid his arm underneath her while the other held her steady by her arm. Gradually he helped into a sitting position as she yelped helplessly in his embrace.

"Shh shh, love…it's alright, I've got you…you're okay…" Alistair kept up the litany of encouragement in her ear. There was anguish in his eyes, worry and heartache. He tried to hold her in a way that would be painful, but even the slightest touch against her sensitive skin was like hot fire. "It's okay…it's okay."

He helped her as he settled her resisting body into a comfortable position (or at least what he could manage) then held her face gently in his hands, studying her carefully as he smoothed away the hairs from her damp face. Maker, she looked ill. She clutched at her ribs, let out small gasps and looked to be on the verge of tears again. He wanted to fuss over her, to do something, anything that would make her feel better. "Want some water?"

She nodded, and Alistair brought the cup up to her chapped lips. "Drink it slowly….there you go."

Just as she swallowed, her body lurched inward. The cup shattered to the ground as she pushed it away. Alistair recognized that look – she was going to be ill. She turned her head off to the side and retched violently, releasing with little was in her stomach in dry heaves. Worry lines creased Alistair's brow and his stomach tighten. Obviously her condition was getting worse. The more time they spent trapped in Fort Drakon was proving to be hazardous. He sighed sadly as he brought her close to his chest resting her head on his shoulder, hugging her as best he could without hurting her.

"I'm sorry," she choked, coughing hard. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be my love." Alistair felt a rush of shame come over him, followed by a flood of frustration. He was mortified of his own weakness and despite all his talents he couldn't even relieve the distress plaguing his lover. She relaxed some as she rested against her though her body was still trembling with gasps. He started rocking her again slowly, kissing her forehead as he shushed her softly. He could feel the fever burning under his lips and it concerned him greatly. Along her back and just under her breasts, Alistair spotted dark bruises had formed that weren't there earlier. Fear chilled his inside – it quite possible that she was bleeding internally. His jaw clenched as he gripped tightly to her. "I will take you from this place even if costs me my life. I swear it."

"Don't say that. You should be more worried about getting to the Landsmeet than about me." She shifted her body shakily in his protective embrace. "Fereldan needs you Alistair."

"Not as much as I need you. I don't think I've could've come this far without you, and I refuse to go any farther unless you're by my side. You…you have no idea how much I need you in my life – absolutely **no** idea. Call me an overprotective fool, but a small part of me wishes that you weren't a grey warden just so you wouldn't be situations like this. Just so I could save you from future suffering." Alistair smirked realizing that he starting to babble. "I know I sound foolish, but I guess it comes with the territory of loving someone so much. You tend to rethink what's most important to you."

Then, Alistair gasped himself as he felt the reassuring feeling of her hand brush against his cheek lightly touching his heat flesh. Her nearness was intoxicating that way she stroked him. It felt warm and strong. He turned to look in her eyes. She was watching him with an expression of love – serene and perfect love that suddenly made him want to weep. "You are an overprotective fool Alistair, but I love you for it."

He covered his hand over hers and smiled. It was a sad smile, aching with regret. "Sweetheart if I was to lose you, if anything were to happen to you because I wasn't able to protect you, then that would be the end of me. Simply saying I love you can't be enough in expressing what I feel, my dear Cousland. It's not enough for me…"

"Alistair," she whispered. "Stop talking."

Something snapped inside Alistair. He drew a deep shaky breath and brought his lips to meet hers. She moaned against him both out of pain and passion as she kissed him in return. They fit together perfectly drawing each other deeper and deeper, drinking themselves in. When he pulled away, he buried one hand into her hair pressing her so close to his body; he hoped they would become one. She hugged him back willingly completely forgetting about her pain. Now it was Alistair who was trembling; trembling with fear and panic. _'Maker please, I never asked for anything in my life, but I beg you,' _he prayed. _'Give me the strength to save her. I cannot lose her so soon after I've come to love her so much. It would be cliché of me to say that we were meant to be together, but I have never known a greater fact to be truer. She's my absolute world now. Please, I ask for nothing else."_

Suddenly he felt her body go ridged and she held tightly to him. "Alistair, they're coming."

(1)Reacting quickly Alistair turned his head just as he heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching from behind. He looked and saw a group of seven guardsmen clad in heavy armor and carrying longswords in their hands coming to unlock their cell gate. Their armor was stained with blood, fresh and dripping off of them like sweat. The smiles that were twisted on their faces caught Alistair's attention instantly. The way they laughed together made his blood run cold, making him feel both unease and disgusted. Alistair rose to his feet; instinctively he shoved Cousland protectively behind him and out of sight while he stared down the guards with a cautious eye.

"Stay behind me," he said in a grave tone.

The guards' leader, a skinny man with thin disheveled brown hair and a dirty moustache, unlocked the cell door and calmly walked into the prison with the others follow closely behind him. Alistair could easily take him, but not so long as he had his men backing him up. They spread out themselves accordingly, making the cell seem smaller and making escape completely impossible for the two wardens. All eyes fell on Alistair. The group leader chuckled disdainfully obliviously not impressed or intimidated, thanks in part to the notable muscle support surrounding him.

"So, this here is Maric's bastard I've been hearing about aye?" said the skinny man, his accent slurring with every word. "This is the dumb git that plans on overthrowing Loghain and making himself king now huh? And lookie what else we have here; the pretty little tart who killed the Arl Howe. And here I thought we just have your ordinary street trash, but instead we've got ourselves actual celebrities boys!! Well now, this is me lucky day!"

The guards slapped each other gleefully as Alistair could see them eyeing the woman huddled behind him like a pack of dogs in heat. Cousland tried to steady herself on Alistar's shoulder as she rose to her feet, her arms clutched tightly around her waist. He could feel her strength flattering her by the way her hand trembled on him. Shielding her, Alistair started to move the two of them slowly against the wall while his eye on their adversaries. Unfortunately they sensed his anxiety and began to shift, closing in on them together.

"You know, it's not every day that I get the pleasure of entertaining such distinguished company as yourselves. Of course that doesn't mean we're ever short of guests either, but I consider meself especially honored to have the two of you here." He shifted his eyes towards Cousland. "Why don't you come with me love and I can show you our lovely accommodations here at Fort Drakon. I promise…you'll never want to leave after I show you a round or two."

"You so much as lay a finger on her," Alistair growled, "and I swear I will make you sorry you were ever born."

The prison guard sneered. "Well well well, the bastard has quite a set on him I see. Should make things all the more interesting." With a simple gesture of his head, he signaled his men to advance. "You have your orders men! Loghain has requested that we make the two of them feel right at home! Do what you well to 'his royal highness', but bring the tart back with us. I have special plans for that beauty!"

"NO!!" Alistair stormed forward, yelling just as the group of men charged towards him. Running on pure impulse, he caught the first man square in the gut and bore him to the ground where his fists repeatedly connected with his face. Blow after blow he fought refusing to allow the man a chance to swing. Just then, a swift kick to his side made him cry out in pain. It was followed by several downward punches straight in between the blades of his shoulders as three guards piled on top of him. Out of nowhere, a balled armored fist flew in and connected sharply with the bridge of his chin and Alistair soon found himself falling onto his back. There the guards began to beat him ruthlessly, kicking and punching and getting an apparent thrill from the abuse. Alistair tried fighting back but his vision was obscured by the endless wave of fists and splatters of blood.

Each blow sent him reeling. The world clouded around him in a confusing haze where sound was replaced a loud ringing and his own staggered breathing. He rolled to his side and tried to prop himself onto his knees but then his stomach closed into itself as a hard boot kick shoot straight into his gut. Alistair gasped deeply, retching up bile and blood as the beating continued. An avalanche of blows pummeled his body endlessly while he struggled to keep conscious.

Somewhere in the haze, he thought he could hear a woman screaming.

Then just as Alistair felt like he could stand no more, the thrashing stopped. Bruised and bleeding he laid there on the stone floor tittering on the edge of lapsing into coma. He could sense the guards standing over, admiring their work with a delight of cheers for each other. They then gathered him up roughly by his arms, dragging him into position on his shaking knees. One of them grabbed fistfuls of his face and snapped his head back hard enough to make the warden scream in pain.

Panting, Alistair opened his eyes, gasped, and instantly started to struggle himself free from the guards hold. Alistair was strong, but the four of them were stronger as they kept a firm grip on their prisoner. His body had been significantly weakened from the beating, and the harder he thrashed about, exhaustion was quickly setting in. His instincts as a warrior were telling him to keep fighting. Do not stop, it cried! Do whatever is necessary to get free and make your escape! Unfortunately, Alistair did not have the power in him to make that happen. Defeated his body sagged completely fatigued and all he could do was stare of the gut-wrenching sight before him.

Two guards had captured Cousland.

She was standing erratically on her legs, was bound with her arms tightly behind her back by one of them while another held her face firmly in his hand. His fingers were pressed so deep into her flesh that she was starting to bruise. Alistair could tell that she was in terrible distress, that her injuries were making her predicament almost unbearable. Her eyes bore into him, although shimmering with tears but her expression refused to let her captors see her pain. Alistair wanted to reach out for her, to comfort her like before and tell her that everything was going to be okay.

Maker help him, he just wanted to touch her.

The guardsmen leader then stepped into his view of her, blocking Cousland from his sight completely. Alistair could feel his anger fuming deep within him like the fires of the darkspawn itself. His eyes narrowed into two slits and his lips curled back to show his clenched teeth as he began to breathe harder and harder with anger. "Don't you touch her," he warned in low and dangerous tone. "You hear me?! Don't you dare touch her!"

The guardsmen glanced over his shoulder at Alistair, and smirked evilly. "Oh, I plan on doing more than just touching her," he said. With that, he lifted his sword and brought down the handle swiftly. Alistair heard her screaming his name once just as the iron butt of the sword connected with Cousland's temple, snapping her head back and knocked her out cold. She went completely limp and dropped to the floor in a lifeless heap.

"NOOO!!" Sheer terror took hold and Alistair began fighting with infuriating velocity trying with all his might to free himself. His captors had him entangled in their grasp. He picked himself off his knees and attempted to grab the guardsmen but he was wrangled tightly around his neck, collared by a muscle arm and choked. His legs kicked wildly as he shouted and protested his release. "No! No! No! No! Let me go damn you! Let me go! No! Nooooo!!"

Alistair watched helplessly as the guard leader ordered his men to gather the unconscious woman. "Take her to my quarters," he said, pervert lust hinting on every word. "Oh yes, I can't wait to be alone with 'er."

"NOOO! Take your hands off her!!" Alistair's hand shot out as they started to drag Cousland's body out by her ankles. His fingers were stretched, reaching with every fiber in his body just to touch his beloved. He screamed her name hoping it would rouse her. "Wake up! I said wake up, damn it! Wake up please!"

Hot tears burned in his eyes. _'Andrastate please! Do not let them take her from me! Please don't let this happen!'_

"No...no please...please don't! No!"

The guards holding him captive suddenly hoisted him to his feet, and without a chance to collect himself, a swift and powerful blow came colliding deep into the pit of his stomach knocking the wind clean from his lungs. He coughed and gagged as the guards tossed him backwards, sending him crashing into the cells iron bars and laughing at his crumpled form on the floor. There they left him, walking from the prison with the look of triumph painted on their faces. Alistair then heard the cell door squeal shut, the lock snapped and the battered grey warden found him alone.

Franticly he searched, but he could not see Cousland anywhere. They had taken her.

"Oh maker…no…" he moaned. His body was raked with pain, but it was nothing compared to anguishing feeling of failure threatening to consume him whole. This wasn't happening, he told himself. This could not be happening! He promised that he would protect her! Was he so weak and utterly useless that he was unable to keep a single promise!?

"Can I let you in on a little secret mate?"

Alistair looked up and saw that the guardsman was still there, standing outside the prison and watching him crawl about the floor.

"Just a little tid-bit I think you should know," he said casually. "It might interest you to know that I happen to know your tart rather well actually. She's the Cousland girl up from Highever right; the one whose family got all burned up and dead? Yeah, me thought so. See, you might like to know but I was there that night the Arl Howl ordered the place to be taken." Alistair's eyes widened and his voice caught in his throat. "Yeah, that's right. My mates and I were hired by his lordship to charge the castle, kill whomever we came across and take whatever we wanted as part of our reward. Oh he paid us a nice lot of sliver for the job, but to be perfectly honest, I wasn't all that interested in looting the place. My real reward was in getting my hands on the Teryan's pretty little girl…mmmm lovely."

The guardsman's lust was evident to see just in the way he arched his back thinking about the woman, the way he moaned and drooled and began to fondle himself openly like a sex crazed ghoul. The sight of it and the way he spoke was absolutely vile to watch. "Imagine my disappointment when after all that work of killing her family and I find out that her ladyship manages to escape somehow. Such a shame, and I didn't even get payment the old fool promised me. I'll thank you though for getting rid of him. I would've done it meself but…ah well, doesn't matter now does it? Well, if you'll excuse me! I think I'll go and collect what was owed to me from your little misses!"

Roaring, Alistair ran towards the gate shoving his arms through the bars in an attempt to grab the perverted man. He sneered with angry as he reached for his neck desperate to choke the life out of him. The guardsman took a step back at the last second and smiled mockingly just six inches from Alistair's grasp. "See you later mate."

"BASTARD!!" Alistair screamed, rattling the bars with his fists as he watched the guardsman walk away. At that moment, something dark and sinister possessed Alistair's soul. Something powerful, something that he never allowed himself to feel before yet now he welcomed it and allowed it to dominant his thinking; it was rage. Pure unadulterated and unchained rage. It fueled Alistair to his very core, tainting him with the urge to kill. Kill the guardsman, kill everyone! Kill everyone and never stop killing!

"I SWEAR," he shouted, gripping the bars so tightly his knuckles turned white. His normally calm demeanor transformed into a seething snarl."I SWEAR IN ANDRASTATE'S NAME, I WILL FIND YOU!! I'LL FIND YOU!! YOU HURT HER, AND I PROMISE I WILL MAKE YOU PAY! YOU HEAR ME?! YOU'LL PAY FOR WHAT YOU'VE DONE!!"

The sound of Alistair's screaming threats echoed through the hallowed halls of the fort. It was joined with the sound of his fists bashing against the iron again and again as he tried to rip the door apart. It went on for seemed like hours, a continuous and seemingly endless chorus of anger fueled shouts. It didn't take long until before Alistair's hands were soaked, dripping with his own blood with flesh peeling back almost to the point of bone. He felt nothing but the anger bellowing inside him, driving his every want and desire. His voice was going horse from the screams which only made him sound all the more monstrous. Truly the king was possessed, and yet a small fraction of his psyche was relishing in it.

It cried out for blood, for death, for an endless wave of death.

"I'LL KILL YOU!!" he cried, "I'LL KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!! DO YOU HEAR ME?! I WILL NOT STOP UNTIL EVERY ONE OF MISERIBLE BASTARDS ARE ALL DEAD!!"

**Musical Inspiration:**

**1. "In the House - In a Heartbeat" - 28 Days Later Original Soundtrack**


	3. Chapter 3 : Breaking Cousland

Title: Surviving Fort Drakon

Author: Ryoko Metallium

**Author's Notes: *sigh* I've been dreading this chapter. I mean, seriously. I so DID NOT want to write this. I was very tempted to just write this chapter with just the quote and leave it at that. When I was first considering taking the story in this direction, I had such hesitation to the subject matter that the quote alone would have worked fine without any actual writing done by me. Having the quote imply something and nothing else to follow it would give the reader the chance to draw their own conclusions...and that in itself would be far more monsterious than anything I could write. In my opinion, it pretty much sumed up everything that was going on in the both the story and also my own relunctance.**

**But then, I started thinking that I needed to put SOMETHING as far as a scene goes. So looking at it, I think I came up with an okay descriptive without having to go too into detail that I sure as hell I didn't want to write. I had to keep reminding myself that this story was more about Alistair's reactions to something so horrible that he acts out as any person would. With that being said:**

**WARNING!!! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MATERIAL OF AN UNCOMFORTABLE NATURE. READER DESCRETION IS STRONGLY ADVICED!!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins. It is the property of Electronic Arts and Bioware Inc. I do not own these characters. I am only borrowing them; I promise that I'll give them back.**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Breaking Cousland**

"_There is no real way to describe rape"_

_-Richelle Mead_

How do you prepare yourself to endure the terrible? How do you muster the strength to survive in the face of so much wickedness, so much evil and misery when it's surrounds you from all sides? Is there even room for hope? Do you surrender to the sadness and let it devour you like some kind of a disease? Do you submit? Do I…should I…submit? All these questions go through my head and more as I lay and wait in a haze of confusion and unrelenting pain. I'm paralyzed; my body betrays me as I try to will it to move yet it refuses me. It screams for rest. My sight is clouded by shades of blurry colors and encumbering darkness. I hear nothing, even sound is clouded. Gradually I begin to piece together where I am, but with this horrible realization I all at once grasp what is about to happen.

I am lying in bed, a small bed in an unknown room covered in rags and linens that reek of filth and musk. What remains of my clothes have been stripped off of me. I smell fire; a hearth burns nearby hot, and my clothes in flames. Through the shade of my vision, I can see tools hanging on the walls. Tools used for unspeakable uses, too terrible for me to even fathom at the moment. Rusty iron chains, ropes, tongs and a fire poker burning in the hearth's flames, and bull whips and knives of every length and design. There is an odd contraption that I spot propped against the wall; a wooden frame with a roller at both ends, with one end a fixed bar to which the legs could be fastened, and at the other a movable bar to which the hands were to be tied. A towering Iron Maiden carved with the face of a screaming man was standing next to it.

I realize that I am in a torture chamber.

The hint of old blood, human waste and death lingers like a hideous perfume. Why am I here? I'm waiting; waiting to be tortured, to tormented and taken. No; more than that. I am waiting to be rescued, to be saved from this place by someone…anyone. Alistair. I am waiting for Alistair. He is coming. I know that he's coming. Oh maker, is anyone coming?

Yes, someone is coming. I can hear them coming. I can hear them in the next room, preparing…laughing. I cannot hear what they are saying to each other in exact words, but the tone of their excitement is enough to send chills to the depths of my very souls. Sickness of dread consumes me, hovers over me like an encumbering beast. I don't know what is more terrifying – the fact that my body refuses to listen to me and I can't run away or that what is about to happen, what is **going **to happen will happen against my will and I can't stop it.

Again I ask, how do you prepare yourself to endure the terrible?

The door clicks.

They are here.

For a chilly moment, panic settles over me. Instincts are screaming at me to fight, but I see no opinions open to me. My body is broken and would be practically useless in a fight. I could barely see let alone hold a sword. Through the fuzziness, I can sense them. Mostly their faces are like in dreams, complete strangers to me but are just as unreadable. I can see their intentions. The excitement at seeing my naked state before them invites so much promise for them. At this point, I'm praying.

Not to be rescued.

Not for a swift death.

I pray to be numb.

Let me be numb and oblivious to the world so I don't have to feel. Let my body become as cold as a corpse and just as lifeless. Up until now I have survived every horrifying event that the Maker could possibly throw at me; the slaughter of my family in Highever, the death of the Grey Wardens in Ostagar, the endless fighting with darkspawn no matter where I go.

And now, I have to survive this. This violation….

They begin surround me, so I close my eyes.

I pray to be numb.

I feel their hands fumbling over me.

I pray to be numb.

I lay there, scarcely trying not to breathe. I lay there, wondering if I would ever see the end of this place. I lay there, trying to separate myself from my body and waited and waited and waited and waited…

Please…let me be numb


	4. Chapter 4 : That Which Lurks in Darkness

Title: Surviving Fort Drakon

Author: Ryoko Metallium

**Author's Notes: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!!! I'm sorry for being late with my update but the last two weeks of 09 were the busiest I had ever experienced. I had meant to finish this just after Christmas, but the following day my cousin had gone into labor two months before her due date and I found my time thrusted else where. Good news though! The baby is fine and my cousin is doing better despite the scare. Things didn't calm down until about a week which is when I finally found the time to sit down and finish this chapter. I had intentions to make this longer, but the stress of the last couple of weeks kinda drained me my energy. Plus I wanted to devote the next chapter entirely to Alistair's moment of rage since that requires a lot of mapping out and several rewrites. I need to set up a playlist of very loud and angry music like the band I'm really into; _All That Remains_. **

**This chapter kinda gives a small preview of the slaughter fest (if you need a visual, just watch Kill Bill Vol.1 since that's what I'm basing it off of lol). For now, I added other characters so as they can have their moment.**

**Special thanks to spirit_dog for spotting my mistakes!**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Dragon Age: Origins. It is the property of Electronic Arts and Bioware Inc. I do not own these characters. I am only borrowing them; I promise that I'll give them back.**

* * *

**Chapter Four: That Which Lurks in Darkness**

"You know, this is would be a lot better if we had prostitutes."

"Anything would be better if we had prostitutes."

"I had heard that playing diamondback wasn't the same without them…and here I am, stuck with you buggers." There were three guards on duty that night, keeping watch over the first entry way of Fort Drakon while playing a game of cards in an attempt to stay sane. It was just one of the many floors constructed into the enormous compound. The fort itself was like a maze with layers upon layers of different entry ways and paths, but only one exit. The design was meant to disorient prisoners and to make escaping nearly impossible without becoming lost. Only the guards knew the forts' complicated pattern making it truly a daunting structure from both inside and out. One of the annoyed guards, a scowled faced man named Wenham, drew down his cards onto the table with an exasperated sigh and sloshed back in his chair. "Enough! This game has lost all interest with me and I refuse to play any longer without the company of easy wenches. Armend, go the cells and fetch the lot we were saving for later. I do hope that they are just as lively as the last patch."

"Seriously? All that's in there are a couple of whimpering knife-ears. Don't tell me you swing that way, Wenham?"

"I swing no particular way you git!" he grumbled. "I hate all those bloody city elves with a passion! Nothing but bottom-feeding parasites, the whole rotting lot of them! Sometimes I have half a mind to walk right into the center of the Alienage, light a match then watch the whole thing burn to the ground just for kicks. But then again, as far as I'm considered a woman is a woman regardless of race, which means that when it comes to business in the bedroom, I'd take an elven woman than no woman at all."

The third guard laughed heartedly, nearing spilling his mug of ale all over the card table. "The man speaks wisdom! Clearly you've had years of experience in the game of taming woman to your needs. I take it then that your marriage has been a most enjoyable one these past years?"

An accomplished smiled spread across Wenham's face as his chauvinist ego began to shine through. "I'll say this much for my marriage my good man – my sweet wife learns her place remarkable quickly when it comes to my standing. Oh she is a good woman indeed! She fixes my meals when I ask, dawns and washes my clothes accordingly and she rarely gives me grief when it's a matter of my 'yearnings'."

"Then if you are so content in your union, why deceive your woman by lusting after other woman?" asked Bonar, the guard who was chugging ale from his mug like a glutton. "Especially elven woman."

"A man can only suckle on the same candy for so long before it losses its' flavor," quoted Wenham. "And I just happen to be a man with particular cravings, whether they are elven or dwarf or what have you. Sure, I try to avoid the less if at all possible, but when faced with the possibility of having an empty bed I am but a weak weak man."

"Are you listening Armend? Wenham here speaks with experience and insight of the farer race that people such as you and I could only hope to come across! What are you waiting for? Go and fetch those knife-earred whores so that we may see the master at work!"

The guards cheered each other with their mugs, ingestion down their ale only to refill it again as their friend rose from the table and started to make his way towards the door that would led him to the lower cells. "That reminds me," he said, stopping just as his hand reached the handle, "what about that woman that was brought in early today? You know the one I'm talking about right? That woman Loghain was hiring assassins to get rid of…that..uh..that.…the Grey Warden!"

"Oh, don't get your hopes up on that one boy-o," said Bonar. "I had the same idea meself, but the Commander has already staked his claim to her. It's too bad though. For a Grey Warden, she looked to be quite the delicious prize."

"Think Rowman would be generous enough to let the three of us have a go at her once he's had his fun?" Wenham asked. "I've never had a Grey Warden before."

Bonar scoffed. "Not bloody likely," he said. "You know that the Commander can be particularly possessive of his 'belongings' and isn't keen on sharing with anyone, though it surprises me that he allowed the others in his quarters to partake in the fun. The man usually works alone. Anyway, I doubt that there will be anything left of the wench by the time he's done with her, and even if there is we're sure as hell not getting slice. You know what the boss says right?"

"'My bitches wear my collars' according to him," said Armend. "Can't win an argument with any man who possesses that kind of philosophy."

"Speaking of bitches, look there lads."

The three turned as Bonar pointed to the far end of the hallway. Coming around the corner, a bulky brown-coated mabari hound appeared casually sniffing the dusty floor completely oblivious of the guards watching them. The creature wandered back and forth with his black nose pressed firmly the ground as he was trying to track something. The mabari glanced up once, raising his head to give momentary look at the men watching him, sneezed and continued in his search for…whatever.

"What in the Maker's name is that thing doing here?" grumbled Armend. "Did it get loose from the kennels?"

"Probably. That damned Roland is no doubt off pissing in some corner somewhere and forgot the secure the cages again," said Bonar, scratching the inside of his nose. "I didn't hear anything about us getting in any new marbari hounds. Best round that one up Armend."

"Blast it! Do I look like your errand boy?" he exclaimed, crossing his arms. "First you want me to fetch those blasted elves just for your carnal delights and now you ask me to catch some ruttin' dog! Why not make Wenham do it?"

"Why should I?" he cursed. "And in any case you're the bleedin' new guy! I am your superior officer and I have better things to do that chase down stray dogs!"

"Like what?!"

"Would the both of you quit squabbling like a couple of hens?!" Bornar shouted, spitting his ale at the two bickering guards. "Look; the hound is already starting to poke his nose somewhere else now! Someone needs to get him before he starts leaving his crap everywhere and then we'll have to deal with the likes of the Commander! Just get the bloody mongrel and put him back in his pin, and while you're at it tell that dolt Roland to keep a better eye on his hounds"

Sighing loudly and clearly annoyed, Wenham bolted straight up from his seat and gave his companions a rather pissed off glare. "Fine then! I'll get the mut!," he said angrily before pointing his finger straight at Armend. "But when I get back here, I'd best see those whores stripped and sprawled out on the table like the king's dinner and ready for me to feast upon! Understand?"

Aye aye, I hear you!"

* * *

"Get back here you soddin' mongrel!"

Wenham was getting plenty a workout chasing after the mabari hound who was leading him on a wild chase back and forth, up and down the twisting passages of the fort. No doubt the beast thought of the pursuit as some humorous game the way he would prance about happily as if to mock the weary guard, barking before dashing off in another direction and making his purser follow him. Maker, oh did Wenham detest animals! He hated them as much as he did the elves in Alienage. He found them both to be an insufferable nuisance that didn't know their place in the world, much like women. As Wenham made his way around what felt like the hundred corner, his thoughts drifted to the Commander. He had caught a glimpse of him and his men just as they were dragging off the Grey Warden woman to his chambers, and he couldn't help but feel a little envious.

Lucky bastard…

Wenham rounded the corner the marbari had lead him but then suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. Something powerful and sharp unexpectedly impacted against his gut. He staggered a bit as he uttered a startled gasp. Blinking he saw that the wardog was no more than a few feet ahead of him, barking and wagging his stubby little tail. Wenham began to sway just as his vision started to blur against as veil of harsh colors. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a struggling voice followed warm blood leaking out the corner of his mouth.

"Ah my friend, such a shame that it all has to end this way."

Wenham slowly lowered his eyes only to discover a dagger protruding out of his ribcage with the blade shoved in deep. He made a gurgling sound as his blood started to pour from his lips. He blinked again and found himself gazing into the golden eyes of his elven assassin.

"You will have to forgive my intrusion into your fine establishment, but it seems that you have something of mine I would like return to me. And if you would allow me a moment," he said, "listening to that rather colorful conversation with your companions was, how you say, intriguing to me but I cannot say I share your avaricious opinions on the fairer sex. It has been my experience that women are simply more than just a figure of sensuous proportions. Woman can be a mystery sometimes; a mystery wrapped in a riddle, wrapped in a vest of endless questions. But solving riddles can be quite enjoyable if one is patient."

The assassin twisted the blade further into Wenham's gut, squirting blood everywhere. The guard gagged as the assassin's sultry voice dropped to threatening tone. "Women deserve to referred and admired, not degraded and sullied into humiliation. They are not cattle to branded or dogs to be collared by their masters and they are most certainly not slaves just to savor the carnal appetites of evil men. Men, such as yourself, are brutes and are better off never knowing the pleasure of having a good woman. You are better off forgotten. Perhaps when my business is finished here, I'll look up your wife and offer her my expert services. Something tells me she's going to be in need of comforting, being a widow and all."

And with that Zevran shoved in his dagger into the guard's stomach, slicing him open like a gutted pig. Bloated wet entrails fell to the floor with a sickening splatter, soaking the elf's armor completely but he was carefully not to stain his boots. His Antivan leather boots. The dead guard dropped in crumpled heap as the last of his lifeblood oozed around his body in a glimmering red pool.

Normally, Zevran would have been a bit more discreet when it came to taking out his target. He had been trained in the elusive arts of shadow all his life by the Crows, on how to blend in effortlessly to the darkness all in an effort to catch your prey off guard and lured them in the sweet embrace of death. He had been taught to be tactful when came to killing and always to be mindful of his surroundings. But this was one time when even Zevran had to throw out the rule book and went with his emotions.

After the two wardens were taken prisoner, the elf wasted no time in following their capturers to Fort Drakon in hopes that he could find a way of freeing them both. It wouldn't be a small and easy task that was for sure. Even in Antiva he had heard the rumors and grizzly tales of the fearsome prison that would make the bravest of men scream for mercy. His reservations of the place were all answered upon his arrival. Breaking in would be a test to his skills in stealth, even more so once he was inside. Cleverly enough, Zevran was smart in bringing the marbari war hound to act as an alibi. He fooled the first set of guards in thinking he was a messenger delivering the dog to kennel. Once he was far enough inside, he started his search for the cell levels of the fort.

When he came upon the three guards going on about their sexual exploits, at first Zevran had plans on going around them and finding another way in. That was until he heard them mention the grey warden female. He stayed his hand, and listened to them brattled about how she was taken by their commander and was being used to his delights. Zevran instantly knew what those delights could possibly mean, and for the first time in a long time, the assassin desired blood. A hunger to watch these men suffer a painful and excruciating death just saying slander about someone he had grown greatly fond of. If what they were saying was true then he owed it to Cousland to kill them.

Zevran pulled his dagger free from the dead man's gut and calmly wiped the blood with his fingers. He then caught his reflection in the gleam of the blade and saw the resolved expression staring back at him. The face of trained and unrelenting killer. His thoughts ventured back to Cousland and what she could possibly be going through in such a dreadful place. His expression hardened. He owed her much more than he was willing to admit to himself at that moment. Not only had she had aided him in freeing him from the shackled life of the Crows, but throughout their travels together, Zevran couldn't help but feel something for the woman that went further than just a kinship. Whether it could be called love he was not quite sure…not just yet…

The elf felt something wet nuzzled his leg and he glanced down to see the marbari rubbing his muzzle next to him. Zevran smirked as he rubbing behind the beast's ears. It was strange that the dog had taken a liking to him since most marbaris listen to one and that was their masters. Or in this case their mistress. But he figured that the dog had just as much passion to rescue Cousland as he did.

"You have performed admirably my fine furry friend," he said. "Remind me when we return to the castle to acquire you a nice soup bone as a token of my thanks for a job well done."

The marbari barked in response.

"Well now, that just leaves those last two at the door to contend with. No doubt they are going to be wondering what is taking their friend so long. I suppose we best deal with them as quickly as possible while he have the element of surprise on our side. Still think you can track down your mistress' scent?"

Bark bark again.

"Well then, let us finish the job."

* * *

"Sod it all. Why do I always get stuck with prisoner count?"

It was one job that Osmand hated to do; go through every cell in the fort and take a head count of every inmate and see how many could be cleared out to make room for new arrivals. It was tiresome work mainly due to the fact that the fort had so many levels that it sometimes took all day to get through them all. Then came the work of hauling out the dead and transporting them to the even lower levels to be disposed of. The death toll was always high in Fort Drakon; some people just couldn't handle a little torture. Osmand had just about cleared the fifth section of the fourteenth level when he could a glimpse of something in the back cells lying on the floor unmoving.

He looked harder and saw that it was the body of a man that looked like he was either unconscious or dead. Normally regulations required that Osmand contact the commander or his lieutenants, but as everyone on duty knew, the man was "indisposed" at the moment. Sighing, he went to check out the cell himself. Sure enough, the man in the cell looked dead. He was motionless on his stomach and didn't respond as the guard approached his cell. Osmand could see that the man's knuckles were stained and chapped with blood and broken skin as if he got in a fight or something.

"Oi, you piss-worm! Wake up!"

No response.

"Hey! Are you dead?"

Nothing again.

"Sod it all…" Just another annoyance in Osmand's day. Knowing the Commander, it would be hours before he was finished with whatever or whomever he was doing and the corpse would be picked up. Unlocking the door, Osmand went into the cell and began the task of taking out the body himself. He cursed quietly to himself at his rotten luck, of how he always gets stuck doing the grunt work and how he never got any respect just because he worked in the lower levels. As he started to roll the man over onto his back, Osmand made a mental note to put in for reassignment.

He successfully moved to the man over, and then he screamed when the man suddenly reached up and grabbed him by his neck.

Osmand then found himself in a wrestling match with the man who was clearly not dead. The man had him by his neck, pressing down hard on his windpipe to silence his scream while his other hand caught him on his shoulder. He was sent slamming into the bars again and again. His head snapping against the iron so hard his helmet was dented. Blood began to blind him as it poured along his face. Suddenly, the man removed his hand from his neck and his arm was replaced as he was captured in a fierce headlock. He was choking underneath the man's hold just as he felt the muscles in his neck starting to strain. His head was turning off to the side. Something was being pulled, stretching out of place. There was blinding burning pain that was making him go blind and that's when he realized the man was trying to break his neck.

Panic and fear rushed over Osmand as he flailed helplessly. He tried to scream but his voice had been crushed under his captor's grasp. He fought heatedly to free himself as he could feel the fibers in his neck firing off flaming blasts of agony. The man was using all his strength to practically tear off his head. The last thought that went through his mind was mercy…just before his neck went with a loud snap.

Alistair strangely felt no remorse for the guard as he let his body drop to the floor like a limp sack of bones. In fact, he felt…justified. Not completely, but just enough to get him started. With a deep breath and satisfying breath, he saw that the guard had left the door to his cell release. He could've asked for a more open invitation

It had been several hours since Cousland had been stolen away from Alistair and taken to some part of the fort to suffer some kind of torment of Maker only knows. So many thoughts had gone through Alistair's mind since that moment. So many appalling thoughts of what could be happening to the woman he loved and vowed to protect to the point it was driving him to the brink of madness. In actual fact, he may have already crossed the fine line when he chose to kill the guard with his own two hands. There was very little time to waste; Alistair needed to find his beloved even if it meant slaughtering every single man that came his way.

He stripped the guard out of his armor, finding it a snug but workable fit. He stole his weapon, a long sword and short dagger, and with a brewing resolve for satisfaction, Alistair walked out of his prison. He did not know what awaited him in this place of hell. He did not how many men he would have to kill until he found what he desired. Frankly, he didn't right care. All he knew was that for every man that would try and stop him from reaching his goal, Alistair would make them suffer a nightmare unlike anything they had ever seen.

Alistair walked with powerful strides as his arm gripped the hilt of the long sword with eager anticipation. His heavy breathes escaped his nose and through his clenched teeth. His mind began to repeat that dreadful moment that Cousland was dragged from their cell; wounded, beaten and unconscious while he was helpless to do anything to save her. His steps quickened as his rage grew. In time, he turned the corner and came upon his first obstacle in a small group of guards.

They had not seen him slowly advancing them. They didn't know that he had even escaped until that very last moment when they heard him screaming, charging towards them with his sword raised high and the look of insanity glowing in his eyes.

* * *

**Author's Notes: I intentionally wanted to write the whole chapter without ever adding any of the other characters, but then I thought that it would be a bit unbelieveable to have Alistair totally massacre the fort Uma Thurman style. Not matter how awesome that would have been, I had to be realistic. I really like having Zevran in this chapter and I really hope that I got his character. He's really hard to write since he's suppost to be a casanova when it comes to words. I also really like writing him as this guy with a secret passion for Cousland. It's my own fantasy that he holds a torch for her lol. **


	5. Chapter 5 : One Step Closer to the Edge

Title: Surviving Fort Drakon

Author: Ryoko Metallium

**Author's Notes: (slams head against the keyboard) Oh...my...god! This had to be the most stressful chapter I have ever written! Ever have those days where nothing you type out looks right to you, or when you don't have the energy to write? Yeah, that was how it was for me for a good month! This chapter literally burned me out. There were so many scenes that I had to put together. It didn't help me that I was constantly distracted with other story ideas and I couldn't really focus on what I needed to do. Hopefully that won't happen when I sit down to write the next installment. I'll probably take this chance to finished the stack of one shots that I have piling up on me. **

**I really tried to include Alistair's rage scene in this chapter, but I got to say that after a month of struggling just to get this much out, I just didn't have the energy. At least now I got the bulk of the story out of the way so I don't have to worry about it the next time I write. **

**Fair warning: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SCENES OF AN UNCOMFORTABLE AND GRAPHIC NATURE! READER DESCRETION IS STRONGLY ADVICED!!**

**I managed to read through it and change some of my mistakes, but if I happen to miss some, sorry about that.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins. It is the property of Electronic Arts and Bioware Inc. I do not own these characters. I am only borrowing them; I promise that I'll give them back.**

* * *

**Chapter Five: One Step Closer to the Edge**

Alistair was sweating and gasping for breath. His mouth was dry, too dry to swallow, sourness on his tongue and his throat burned and his chest ached. He felt bewildered, unable toe recall how he had made his way from the prison floor to the guards' station room. He blinked dumbly, his mind a jumble of feverish images and pieces of memories, unable to remember where was or how he'd come to be here. Alistair felt fear. His skin was soaked with sweat and his bones throbbed with dull aches and pain. He raised his head blinking warily and in bafflement as his tear-blurred vision slowly cleared.

Iron lamps glowed softly against the low, ominous gray walls. A scream could be heard somewhere, beginning as a tremulous cry of suffering and ended as a weak whimper. The putrid scent of all things rotten invaded his senses. Gradually the fear started to subside and his breathing regained to slow rhythm and his heart slowed slightly. He felt his arms shaking, trembling as he wiped his hand down his face to clean off the sweat while trying to collect his thoughts.

The armor he had been wearing was starting to become too tight for him to move around in so Alistair had gone looking for where his belongings he came in with. He was more familiar with his own weapon in his hand than anyone else's, and if he had plans on fighting, he must rather have his enemies die by his sword. It was a steady march from his cell for the templar. As he anticipated, there was security almost around every corner. Luckily his escape hadn't been alerted yet which gave Alistair the opportunity to catch them unaware.

In the warden's defense, he tried to avoid as much fighting as possible. Fort Drakon was immense to travel through and he knew that it would be sometime until he would find what he was looking for. Alistair couldn't afford to waste his energy by simply going on a massacre on just about everyone he happened across, although for everything that happened so far was fair reason enough. The templar desired retribution, hungered for it. The inner turmoil within him against his own morals instilled in him by the Chantry and his desire to justice was pulling him in two directions. Truly the only thing keeping him in check was his main goal of finding his comrade, the love of his life, in one piece and not to get killed in the process.

He found his way eventually to an empty guard's quarters. Already on edge of being discovered, Alistair had to be quick in looking for his armor and sword. He searched chest after chest, rummaging through old armor, dusty torn clothes, shoes, necklaces, rusted daggers and every thing else that had been confiscated from past prisoners. It was eerie to feel his way through so many disregarded items that no doubt had once been treasured by someone at one time. Guilt and saddness pierced Alistair's heart when he came upon a ruined doll covered in dirt and stained in very old blood. A mute testimony of the horrors inflicted in such a forsaken place.

Eventually, Alistair found the chest containing his armor. Wasting very little time and keeping an eye on the door, he stripped himself quickly and slipped on the chest plate, followed by the gauntlets and the boots (remarkably getting both on the right foot on the first try). His longsword, daggers and his bag of injury kits, herbs, bandages and ointments were strapped to his belt. As he geared himself, Alistair froze as his eyes came upon Cousland's armor and weapons that were buried underneath his. He paused, agonizing whether he should take them with him.

He could leave the armor behind. It wouldn't serve him any use. But he had to at least carry her family sword with him. It would burden him and only add to his fatigue, but the sword was something his beloved valued dearly. It was as important to her as his mother's amulet was to him; the last link to their former families. She'd never forgive him if it was lost.

He'd never forgive himself.

Alistair strapped it to his back, feeling himself encumbered by the weight and continued searching for anything else he could salvage. He found a few more injury kits and extra bandages to add to his bag plus vials of medicines that Wynne had brewed that worked well for stifling off illness. As he was about to leave, Alistair came upon another heart stopping discovery that actually caused him to gasp.

There, crushed underneath all the fragments, he came upon his Lothering rose.

With both hands, Alistair very carefully and lovingly plucked the flower from the chest and held it gently. The rose appeared withered, its' once bright petals were shriveled and the color was fading. The bloom was wilted as if it were dying. Suddenly Alistair felt his stomach cave in on itself. He could taste pile brewing at the back of his throat. He had given the rose to Cousland as offering to his feelings towards her, telling her that its enduring beauty and strength reminded him of her. To him, it was a statement of survival. But looking at it now, he could only see it as a dark omen.

If the flower was surrendering to the darkness, then what of his beloved? Dear Maker, what was happening to her? He could not bear to think of it any longer. Gathering everything he could carry, and tugging the rose safety under his armor, Alistair bounded out the door of the guards' quarters. As he ran, he prayed to the Maker that he would not be too late.

'_Maker, I beg you,' _he thought. _'Let her still be alive'._

* * *

Noric shuddered with intense pleasure, briefly overwhelmed by ecstasy as he rode hard towards his approaching climax. His hips pumped feverishly, the brimming need for release fueling every thrust. An explosion of unbelievable ecstasy and elation radiated through every fiber of his trembling body. It was as if he was erupting, an igniting spark to a powder keg. His whole body bucked up with a determined desire. His flesh was awakened, electrified with scorching fire unlike anything he had experienced. Noric felt powerful, dominant and in control.

Panting heavily, he buried himself completely into that twitching wet cavern over and over while he throbbed painfully. His organ was painfully swollen inside her. A delightful and erotic pain. He rose up, looming over his captive prey as he picked up speed. Release was near. A moan rose from deep down in his throat that sounded much like a monstrous growl. Sweat was beading down his forehead. Noric pumped harder charging towards that grand moment of pleasure. His hands held down his prey to bed firmly so she would not escape him, as if she could anyway. The bitch had long submitted her power to him. He was a conqueror, coming to collect his prize.

He exclaimed loudly upon his orgasm. Primal lust took over as he hammered ruthlessly, showing absolutely no mercy to the limp woman beneath him. Something of a small whimper came from her but nothing else. She neither moved nor made any other noise as Noric reached his limit. Feeling exhausted and fulfilled, he grinned as he planted wet slobbering kisses across the Grey Warden's face.

"I told you," he said through labored breathes. "I told you that I could break you. I knew that you would yield to me with the proper coaxing just like the whore you are. But don't take that as an insult lovely. You're probably one of the best whores I've had in a lifetime." He halted his kissed for a moment to swallow and catch his breath. He tilted her face towards him so she could look at him, even though her eyes were empty. Lifeless. "I can feel your satisfaction on me still. You should be ashamed for enjoying yourself you know. There's nothing wrong in liking it."

She said nothing.

Chuckling again, he kissed her again and rose off the filth-ridden bed to fetch a bucket of water to scrub himself. The hours of unbridle sex had been everything that Noric had been hoping for; glorious and rewarding and deliciously satisfying. There had been some minor periods where he had to take manners into his own hands. He had expected there to be some struggle and oh how the Grey Warden resisted. It surprised him considering her state. A few broken ribs were apparently not enough to keep from you from fighting off Noric's advances. To her credit, she had gotten in a few good blows. It was fun at first, exchanging a few jabs back and forth, but he grew tired of foreplay and much preferred it if she acted like a good little girl.

It took three of his men, the breaking a few more ribs, a couple of lashes and a nightshade potion just to keep her line.

Keeping the warden drugged turned out to be a beneficial idea. As much as he wanted to hear her voice scream his name at the height of passion, she was a troublesome minx that would make difficult to enjoy himself. He was careful not to give her too much least he wanted to fuck a corpse. Noric slipped her enough to make her lucid and awake and able to heed his every desire. Looking back at the bed as he washed his skin, he could feel his desire returning. He smirked, rubbing his chin as he gazed upon her motionless form.

"You are quite a beautiful woman," he said. "I can understand why your friend was so adamant about having you all for himself. Truly, I didn't want to get some rough with you but really, you left me with little choice. All you had to do was behave and do exactly what I asked, and then I wouldn't have to hurt you. Maybe next time it will more enjoyable for you if you simply listen. I do hope that you act more compliant when my men come down for their turn."

Noric walked back to the bed and carefully stroked the warden's flesh, running his fingers along the softness of her legs, thighs and the junction between her legs. His fingers probed deeply into her folds. She flinched and moaned as he touched her; the effects of potion were starting to fade. Acting quickly he fetched an already prepared bottle from a nearby table and brought it to Cousland's lips. The bitter concoction flooded her throat and immediately made her gag but Noric only forced more. He clamped her mouth shut so that she had no other choice but to swallow. It worked almost at once. For a second her eyes opened wide as they rolled back and her body went stiff and rigid. She trembled as the effects began to take hold, and then she collapsed against the bed slipping back into a stupor.

"There we are, all better." Noric then grabbed his pants and shirt, slipped them on then dressed back into his armor. "Sorry I can't stay love, but I have me duties to attend to. But don't worry. My boys are outside eagerly awaiting you so you don't have worry about getting lonely. I think I'll go have meself a peek at your friend and see how he's holding up. Maybe I'll even bring him down here for ya. You'd like that wouldn't ya?"

Before leaving, he loomed over Cousland's body once more, allowing his eyes to drink in her nakedness once more. His hunger for her was increasing to the point he wanted to act on it. To take her and ravish her over and over and over. Noric wiped the drool forming on his lips with the back of his hand as he lowered his mouth to hers and savored a deep, hungry kiss.

"I'll be back for you," he whispered lustfully and bolted from the chamber, calling out to his men gathered at the door to form a line.

* * *

His attacks were precisely accurate. Stroke for stroke, the elf countered every attack as the guards tried to surround him. They had some skill, that much could be said. But their movements were sluggish and lacked complete focus. They moved like a pack of pregnant brontos in Zevran's opinion. With a pair of daggers in each hand, the assassin moved with determined quickness, blocking back every blow and returning it with twice as much ferocity. As a trained killer, he knew where to look for openings, to find them and used them to his advantage in order to gain the upper hand.

Zevran fought his way across the hallway with the marbari, stabbing and slashing through the pack of men with ease. A solider ran at him with sword and shield in hand with about five others follow close behind him. Zevran sprinted hard, launching himself down the narrow passageway gripping his daggers tightly. The elf jumped, using the soldier's own shield as leverage he ran upwards along the stone wall to gain higher ground. He dropped just above the man's head and forced his through the gap of the man's helmet and armor. A clean kill yet pitiful. The man fell dead before he even had a chance to raise his sword. Zevran landed and leapt forward, spinning his daggers against the blows with astonishing ease. His agility and amazing dexterity allowed him to be one step ahead of their actions, stabbing relentlessly. Long blond hair matted with red, the elf parried a down stroke, whirling swiftly to the left and making a reverse lunge. The guard countered too late, catching the blade directly in his midsection splattering blood everywhere. Those that remained standing were dropped without delay with a simple flick of the wrist and a couple throwing knives.

The marbari made little work of the rest, charging ahead of him and taking down all that couldn't escape his jaws. His razor like fangs were strong enough to gouge open the steel armor and rip apart the flesh into bloody ribbons.

The sound of a clanking swords and dying cries echoed off the walls lost among the chorus of all the other sounds filling Fort Drakon. Eventually the cries came to an abrupt stop as the last men fell under the assassin's blade, his throat sliced opened and his voice gurgling with blood as it flooded his mouth. Zevran then paused, taking a moment to collect himself and to catch his breath. He had just executed what had to be about ten guardsmen after making a wrong turn. Honest mistake. The rumors about the compound being a maze clearly had not been exaggerated. The elf breathed a deep sigh of relief as he leaned against the cool stone, his hands on his knees as he waited for his fatigue to fade. Never in his life had he been more grateful for the endurance training he received from the Crows. A novice assassin wouldn't have even made through the front gates. Zevran had expected there to be some kind of combat so good thing for him he had brought just about every weapon in his arsenal. Still, even with his knowledge and his gear, he was still surprised him the heavy amount of protection that had been stationed.

"It seems that I have my work cut out for me this time," he said, wiping blood from his forehead. "This place certainly stays true to its reputation. It's locked up tighter than the chastity belt of a king's virgin daughter, and twice as guarded." Zev shot a glance at the marbari hound who in turn gave his own questioning look for that unique metaphor. "What? I speak from experience. In any case we are both lucky that I know my way around a prison, as well as a chastity belt. I tend of them as one in the same. Pick a few locks here and there, be a little forceful if you need to, and ultimately you'll gain an entrance."

Finding a fresh reserve of strength, he gathered up his throwing knives from the bodies of the dead guards, cleaned and sheathed them back into his belt while looking at the carnage that lay at his feet. "Loghain certainly went to a lot of trouble in posting extra security. Makes me wonder if he knew were coming. We best continue on our way. I think our lady and Alistair are probably tired of this place as much as I am."

* * *

They crawled all over her like a pack of wolves feeding on an unresponsive carcass, sniffing and pawing at her to their own delights. Three men gathered around the stained bed gazing upon Cousland's body as it if a prize just waiting to be seized. Their clothes lay tossed to the floor as they advanced upon her. Another dose of nightshade had made her mind reeling into dizzy trance completely unable to fight them off. She could barely sense their presence at all even as one of them took her by her wrists and bound them together tightly with rope. Her mouth hung open to protest, to scream for help but she could muster was a drunken moan.

Chuckling, one of the rapists skulked into position in between the prone woman's legs, taking his time to admire her state of …willingness. His mouth pressed to her fever drenched skin, tasting her nipples with slobbering kisses that traveled down the length of her stomach. Another man moved behind the woman, picking her up so that her back was pressed against his bare chest. He moved her arms so that they hooked behind his head while his rough hands began to caress her breasts. The other man stood back pleased by the appalling scene while favoring himself to his own touch anxiously awaiting his turn.

Cousland moaned instinctively as the man who had been kissing her came upon her wet core and began to feast upon greedily. He showed no mercy or patience as his tongue probed deep into her folds and his fingers twisted and pulled at her swollen nub. Her body reacted with nervous twitches and dripping arousal. The man at her back nuzzled her neck with kisses but there was no love within them. One hand squeezed her breast tightly while his other held her by her waist, securing her body to his. She trembled as the man between her legs nibbled her flesh and then suddenly grabbed her ankles; he brought her legs straight up in the air and placed them over his shoulders. He leaned in forward and with a push and loud grunt; he was within her groaning from the warmth he discovered. The rhythm was forceful and hard and fast, completely consumed and driven by lust. His hands were firmly gripped on her hips as he charged forward, exclaiming with every thrust. His mouth found its way back to her nipples as he suckled roughly and extracting a few more moans from the woman. His companions soon joined in. At her back, she could feel the man's hardness pressing at her other entrance as he grinded against her as if demanding admission. The third had gone red and sweaty in his face, stroking his organ ever faster.

Being drugged had its benefits. Cousland did not feel attached to her consciousness or to her body which allowed her a momentary reprieve from all this depravity. Her mind could be elsewhere, dreaming. She could imagine herself in some other place in another time where she did not have go through such violation. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift into the emptiness, cutting herself from all around her. She felt her soul starting to float and leave behind the broken shell of her body. She was slipping away…dying.

Strange…but death seemed far more welcoming that she had expected it to be.

As the warden began to emerge herself into the darkness, suddenly there was a loud crash of the chamber door being kicked in that immediately pulled her out. There was shouting and then a powerful splash of blood that gushed over her body, soaking her completely. The defilement ended. Softly, the first kind voice she had heard in hours started speaking to her.

"My lady, I've come for you."

* * *

It was so easy to get caught up in the fury of battle, and it was ever easier to get caught up in the act of killing.

A large group had engaged him as he made his way up the fort's higher levels. They raised the alarm that signaled heavy reinforcements. Taking a firm fighting stance, Alistair drew his blades and rushed into battle. Fighter's nature propelled him forward, but also the desire for retribution. He caught the first straight through his armor, his blade spearing through iron, flesh and bone and tossing him aside as he went on to the next. His gauntlet blocked a downward slash and he returned with a gloved fist to the nose. The soldier sprawled to the floor, gagging blood as Alistair's sword came down into his chest. The templar discovered a rhythm in his movements, a coroneted dance back and forth swing and slashing his blade at whoever could get within arms reach of him. He countered almost assault, constantly attacking while at the same time effectively blunting any counterattack while searching for an opening in his enemies' defense. He found himself more aware to his surroundings and was able to strike back every offensive with ease and return with another attack with much more ferocity. A primal scream escaped his lungs as Alistair hacked and slashed a pathway for him. Blood showered on his armor and splattering in his eyes but it did not phase his determination. In fact, it was strangely gratifying. It could be said that Alistair fought as a man possessed by blood lust. It wasn't murder, just self defense. At least that's how Alistair saw it though he would not deny that he was taking some sort of strange pleasure in driving his sword through the middle of every soldier surrounding him.

A sword was raised above his head as a solider tried to catch him off guard from behind. Alistair caught him, raising his own blade and sliced both arms from the elbows. A glint of red flashed in Alistair's eyes when the man dropped screaming in agony. He whirled back and another second man just by the slit of his throat. His head was sliced cleanly from his shoulders, flying into the air as his former body collapsed. With a twirl of his sword, he slew the remaining guardsmen with one strike and they collapsed at his feet.

Soon the group was reduced to just one man.

The lone soldier trembled in fear but held his ground nonetheless. For a moment, the fighters shared an intense stare down with each other. Even though his face was bathed in sweat and blood and his body was taut with fatigue, Alistair wasn't about to back down.

"I…I'm not scared of you," whimpered the guard. His grip on his sword shook just as much as his wobbly knees. His feet shuffled back as he tried to distance the space between him and the man who was resolute in ending his life. "You hear me?! I'm not scared of you!"

"You should be," Alistair replied in a low threatening tone. He pointed his sword at the lone guard. "I'm going to give you one chance to answer me, so you best tell me what I want to hear. Where did they take the Grey Warden?"

"W-what? I…I…I don't know what you're talking about."

Alistair started towards the guard, still pointing his sword at him. "Once more…before my patience runs out. Where was the Grey Warden taken?" The man began stammering incoherently searching for an answer that would appease the templar. His babbling irked Alistair's dwindling tolerance and just as he had warned, his patience suddenly snapped. He drove his foot in the soldier's midsection, knocking him and his sword to the ground. Alistair wrestled on top of the man, pinning him as he held the sword's sharp tip at his jugular. "Answer me!"

"No, please don't kill me! I beg you; show mercy!"

"Mercy? You want me to show you mercy?! Compassion?!" Alistair snarled. His chest began heaving rage, his teeth clenched as his lip curled back and his eyes narrowed. The hatred that had been brewing within him spilled like venom from his lips. "Why should I show you anything? You tell where she is right now! I swear by Andrastate herself, I will gut you here if you don't tell me! Where is she, swine!?"

"Alright, alright I'll tell you! Just please don't hurt me!" The soldier held up his hands defensively. "I did happen to notice the Commander and a couple of his men take a woman from the lower cells to his chambers. I thought she was just another prisoner, I swear! I had no idea that she was a Grey Warden!"

"Where is your Commander's chamber?" Alistair pressed harder to the man's flesh, drawing blood.

"No, don't! It's on the eighth level of the fort, just off the hallway near the kennels! More than likely she was taken to his 'private quarters'."

"Meaning what? Speak!"

"The Commander is a sadist," he replied. "He delights in taking prisoners from their cells and bringing them to a secret room hidden behind a book shelf in his chambers. It opens up to a stair case that leads to another room. That's where he does…unspeakable things to the prisoners. He takes pleasure in torture. The Commander can spend hours simply beating a man until he begs for death, and even then it's not enough for him. By the Maker, I've seen him get hard from removing a man fingers one by one and then laughing himself into a stupor as he flogs them! He's inhuman! And he gets especially brutal when he takes in female prisoners."

All better judgment told Alistair not to venture any further into the subject matter and that the truth may have too much for him to take in, but even that wasn't enough to stop him from asking. "What do you mean? What does he do to the female prisoners?"

The solider bit his lip to keep it from trembling. "He…he rapes them…endlessly, but not before he takes his time breaking their will as if they were fresh bought mares. He plays with them, enjoys degrading them in all sorts of ways before he has his way. And other times, when he's completely spent the Commander hands off the remainders to the other guards. Look here; I never took part in any of his sick games! The others would, but I never laid a hand on any woman! So please let me go! I've told you everything I know!"

Nothing would have given Alistair greater pleasure than to slit the whimpering coward's throat then and there. Hearing the kind of atrocities that went on in the prison, the repulsions committed on so many utterly disgusted him. The anger brewed hotter within. His breathing quickened and his heart hammered against his chest as the ugly thoughts entered his mind. His senses were flooding with them; the images were revolting. The flavor of vomit filled his mouth. With several deep breaths, Alistair glared at the man and pulled his sword away his neck.

"Leave…now."

Not waiting to press his luck and hang around, the soldier stumbled to his feet and ran as fast as he could. Standing amongst the slaughter bodies of the men he had just killed, Alistair could feel himself succumbing to the anger welling up inside. It was slowly consuming him as an infection takes over a wound. His eyes were stinging with welling angry tears as reality was starting to sink in. Alistair was trembling so violently that it was an effort to stay standing. He looked at the blood on his hands, the blood on his sword and the dead surrounding him.

Ten men dead…a good start.

* * *

Zevran was no stranger to cruelty. The assassin was used to seeing the worst that life had to offer in all its corrupted beauty. He had long been hardened against the most evil deeds that humanity could do to each other and taught to discard one's self from emotion and compassion. As a murderer, the elf was numb to every kind of act of moral depravity to could be imagined. And yet, staring at the scene before him was even too appalling even for him.

He was no stranger to rape. Growing up in a brothel, the act was commonly forced upon the whores who weren't willing to comply to their patrons requests. He was a boy of seven when he witnessed it for the first time. The woman was a newcomer to the trade hoping to pay off some of her husband's gambling debts. She was pretty thing with long curly brown hair and a dimpled face that made her appear younger than her age. The girl had some misconstrued idea that once her debts were paid, she could leave freely. How wrong she was…

It took a barbarian half her size stinking of ale and piss drunk to make her realize his mistake. It wasn't some years later when he could no longer recall hearing her pleas echoing in his mind. Since that day, Zevran prayed he would never again have to come across something of that nature ever again. Sadly, it seemed that the Maker had turned a deaf ear to his prayers. Paying no attention to the men he killed, the elf rushed over to the unconscious warden. He untied her wrists while the marbari pawed his nose fretfully as his mistress.

"Maker's breath…" Zevran swallowed back hard. He muttered something in Antivan, a mournful regret followed by a curse upon himself. Since meeting the warden he found her to be an inspiring warrior as well as a great beauty. Her strength matched that of any one she crossed swords with, and the elf would be lying if he said he didn't find her alluring in both ways. Would he call it love? Such a word was foreign to him, but seeing her hurt in such a way was making him realize…emotions he had long forgotten. "My lady, can you hear me?" His hands cupped her cheeks tenderly. "It's alright…you're safe now."

He whispered softly into Cousland's ear, sitting carefully on the dirty bed and leaning in closely to her to examine her wounds. The state of appearance made his heart clench tightly in his chest and his expression become sorrowful. There were so many injuries marring her naked body. She was covered in bruises; her face, arms, neck and legs were darkened blue and purple everywhere she had been touched. There were swollen bleeding gashes as if she had been struck repeatedly from a whip or riding crop. Red scabs from where she had been burned. His stomach turned as he saw that her attackers had left their rancid fluids smeared on her skin as one final insult. Zevran could smell the aroma of the nightshade potion hanging heavily in the air. The assassin knew the mixture very well. It was preferably used on captives of war during interrogations but judging from her distorted appearance, she must have been fed it repeatedly to keep her docile and submissive.

His fingers lightly stroked her cheeks as he pressed his forehead to hers. His shoulders shook slightly. "Forgive me my friend," he said. "I tried to find you as fast as I could, but I guess I was not fast enough. I am so sorry. I had wanted to spare you from this kind of torment. I wanted to save you…" He swallowed again to keep his voice from cracking. Whatever feelings he had for Cousland were starting to bleed through so he choked them down before they had a chance to be spoken. "You are safe now friend. They will hurt you no more."

She started to whimper faintly, moaning and groaning out of discomfort. The effects of the potions were beginning to wear off. Composing himself, Zevran began to rethink his escape plan. With Cousland obviously in no condition to defend herself much less walk on her, the elf was at a loss at how he was going to get her out of Fort Drakon safely. And there was still the matter of finding Alistair…if the fool had found himself in a similar situation then Zevran would really be in trouble. He would have to emphasize…big time.

Looking around the small chamber, he began searching for something that he could dress the warden in for the time being. There wasn't much to work with other than a few scraps of dirty cloth here and there. He spotted an old blanket half eaten with moth holes rolled up on table and went to grab it. The mabari whined as he gently lapped his tongue on his mistress's body, cleaning her and hoping to awaken her. The blanket smelled terrible but it was better than nothing.

"Wake up my friend…it's time that we leave this place. I will get you back to the castle and we will have your wounds tend to." Zevran went back to the bed and began wrapping Cousland's body up in the blanket. He saw her eyes started to open, groaning from the intoxication. "Come on…come on now. You have to wake up now my dear. Wake up…please."

Cousland slowly, ever so slowly started to come to consciousness again. She looked faint and was woozy as he lightly touched her cheek with his finger to comfort her. She gasped suddenly, realizing that she wasn't alone and instinctively began to fight back. Zevran flinched as her hand struck the side of his face, her nails scratching and clawing in an attempt to protect herself. It was clear that the poison dulled her senses, making her think that the elf was another one of her attackers.

"Whoa! My friend…my friend, stop it! It's alright! It's me! My lady, enough!" Zevran made a frantic grab for her wrists to keep her from harming him as well as herself. The marbari began barking, leaping back and forth hysterically. Zevran hushed him, hoping that no guards would come rushing to investigate the noise. Holding her wrists, the assassin leaned in close to her ear and spoke calmly to her. "It's alright. Shhh shhh…calm down, calm down. You're safe dear one; no one is going to hurt you."

Zevran pulled her close to him, holding her form as carefully as possible as he began running his fingers through matted hair. His lips pressed her warm skin in light kisses as he shushed her soothingly, whispering comforting sighs and waiting for the moment to pass. "Be at ease my sweet lady. Hush, hush now…It's alright. I am here. I'm here. No harm will come to you so long as I am here."

* * *

Alistair pumped his legs hard beyond their limits, running up fleets of stairs as if it was race to the top. He counted with every floor, keeping track until he had reached the eighth floor. The sheer weight of his armor and his sword was making him sluggish and grow all the more fatigue. Alistair could feel his lungs aching with every breath. He could feel the burn radiating throughout his muscles, starting from the back of his calves and traveling to his entire body. His mind pleaded for rest, but he refused to stop.

'_I'm almost there…almost there' _his thoughts chanted, coaching him onward. _'Don't stop…keep going.'_

With the door just in his sights, he busted through it with a loud grunt completely shattering it to pieces. Alistair refused to stop to regain his strength. With every passing second, his morbid thoughts were pushing the Grey Warden ever closer to the edge of insanity. He could not stop thinking about what the coward guard had told him. He could not stop the images as they came; flashing before his eyes relentlessly, each more disturbing than the last.

'_He rapes them,' _he recalled. _'But not before he breaks their will.'_

"No…" he growled. Vengeance gnarled itself like a thorn bush root around his heart. The craving made him salivate like as a starved crazy man. Before this night was over, Alistair swore that he would see this fort be purged of its evil then burn to the very ground. By his sword and his hand, they would all die. "I will kill them…all of them. If just for her sake alone."

* * *

A sigh of great relief escaped his lungs as he sensed her calming down. "Zev…ran…"

The elf placed his hand behind Cousland's head as he cradled her, and then turned to look into her tired eyes. He managed to flash her his trademark smile. "There we go…here's my beautiful Grey Warden reawakened like a sleeping princess free from the witch's spell just like in child's fairy tale. Of course in those stories, it was the kiss of her handsome and quite dashing champion that originally broke the spell, but hey…who am I to complain. No need to worry now; your Antivan knight has come to rescue you."

She tried to speak, swallowing hard gulps to relieve her dry throat but all she could manage was mews of distress. Zevran held her still, wiping away the tears as they came. "Easy now…I know that you are in much pain my dear, but you must stay strong. We cannot linger in this place much longer. It's only a matter of time until someone notices the trail of dead bodies I've left behind and sounds the alarm. We must make our escape while we have the chance."

"Al…Alis…Alistair…" Cousland choked.

"Yes yes, I know. I haven't forgotten about our templar, trust me. We will find him, but first I want to get you to safety and then…" There was a loud crashing sound in the next room and heavy footsteps charging down the steps at great speed. The hound's ears flatten back and began growling as the footsteps drew nearer. The assassin quickly went for his blades, drawing them out as he stood over the bed and shielding the warden with his body. He stifled a curse under his breath. By his guess, it sounded like maybe three or four men making their way down the steps. In such a small room it didn't give him much room to maneuver. He was lucky the first time around just for the fact he caught the three men off-guard.

Plus, he had to worry about Cousland's welfare. She couldn't possibly defend herself in the condition she was in, and if those bastards think that they were coming to help themselves to seconds then they were sorely mistaken. With his hands anxiously twitching, Zevran waited for the moment of attack. Whatever the outcome, the elf was going to protect his ally with his very life. He owed her that much to die in her service.

Someone appeared in the battered doorway and for a short moment the two simply stared at each other. Zevran curiously moved forward, still holding up his defense in case he needed to attack.

"Wha…how…what in the maker's name are you doing here Zevran?"

The marbari relaxed and began barking with his stub of a tail wagging happily as Alistair suddenly stepped out of the darkness. The dog went straight for him to greet him while Alistair appeared taken aback by the elf's presence, clearly not thinking he would find him here at all. The elf snickered and sheathed back his blades. "Well well…this is a lucky break if I had ever seen one. Looks like you didn't mean my help after all…I'll still be expecting payment from your Arl Eamon however."

Alistair was about to question Zevran again when his eyes veered off and came upon Cousland's prone body on the bed. A gasp caught in his throat and his eyes grew wide. He dropped his sword and dashed over to her side, kneeling to take her hand in his. It was cold like marble despite the heat in the chamber. Her hold was too weak to grip him. This close Alistair could not ignore the injuries that covered her, nor overlook the smell of blood and man fluids. Its scent assaulted him – strong and pungent. His stomach pinched dangerously. Her eyes opened once, unfocused on anything. She shivered as if she was cold then gritting her teeth against the pain. Alistair felt ill. "Oh, Maker…no! No no, please no!"

Zevran watched idly saying nothing.

Taking in a ragging breath, Alistair pulled away the blanket covering her to get a good look at her wounds. He groaned loudly in disgust, covering his mouth with free hand and swallowing gulps on air to keeping the revulsion satiated. The world grayed with a heavy tide of nausea burning his tongue. Panting through clenched teeth, his hand reached to touch her only to come away feeling sticky with the slickness that soiled her._ 'By the Maker…' _He grimaced; his eyes traveling the length of her body, observing her injuries intensively. It was too much to take in, too many injuries. It was struggle to keep him calm from the panicked thoughts racing through his mind. His head was starting to throb painfully as his vision was becoming watery with tears.

"I was too late…" Alistair shuddered, choking with emotion.

"It seems that we both were." Zevran said direly. Silently, he escorted himself out of the room and back up the stairs, taking the marbari with him to see if it was safe enough to make their escape. That, and he preferred not linger in that room anymore than he had to.

Alistair gave her hand a firm squeeze and leaned in closely to his beloved's ear. She quivered under his touch; the slightest contact was causing her pain. "My love…please wake up. It's me; I'm here now." Alistair choked out a sob as he kissed her head. "Oh please wake up…please."

Her eyes opened only to narrow slits. "Alistair…?"

"Oh my love! Forgive me..!" Unyielding sadness registered clearly in Alistair's voice; there was so much anger and regret breaking though that it was excruciating to contain. His hands cupped her cheeks, holding her gaze solely on him. He could read her pain in her eyes; see it from the tracks of tears path smudged down her face. With his own tears escaping, Alistair's strength faltered. He bent forward, gathering her in his arms crushing her into his chest as he sobbed openly into her hair. "I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry beloved! I tried to get to you sooner but…oh for the love of the Maker! Just what did those monsters do to you?!"

He felt her trembling with every breath, and then her hand came up slowly to caress his face. She spoke so softly that he felt her words more than he heard them.

"Don't…cry."

"I failed you…I swore to protect you!" he shouted. "Forgive me…please; please forgive me my love…"

"Alissstair..." At that moment, he swore he could feel her lips, chapped and cracked, lightly kiss his neck before her body breathed out a sigh. She went limp in his embrace, fainting from pure exhaustion. Alarmed by how light she suddenly felt, Alistair pulled away quickly checking her heartbeat and her breathing. He was relieved when he found both. Staring at Cousland in his arms tittering on the verge of death was tearing him apart, making him feel powerless and a complete failure to her. Her strength was unnatural. How in the Maker's name could she have found to will to bear all of this, and still find a moment to comfort him and his weakness?

(1)The sight of her blood…the smell of it…the feel of it…the wastes that soaked her skin…was this how they treated human life here? Was there no limit to the amount of evil in this world? It was bad enough that there was a Blight was on the horizon that he now had to endure the cruel acts of mankind as well. Especially when these cruel acts for forced upon the woman he loved? Alistair's stomach knotted and his eyes suddenly flashed with a feral like gleam as that dark impulse started to surface. His head hurt with a sick throbbing of revenge-filled thoughts, causing him to seethe with anger and eroded his ability to reason. There was no reason in this! No cause, no meaning for any of this callousness! No reason other than some sick vile pleasure!

Alistair growled low in his throat as he laid his lover on the bed. He stood slowly, his fist balled tightly; shaking as the craving for blood and justice slowly consumed him. A sort of strange wickedness crept its way into his mind and his heart, twisting his thoughts into a haze of unyielding rage. It made him feel possessed, like some demonic force was changing him. His heart pounded – Cousland deserved justice for this! For the death of her family, for the life that was stolen away from her!

For everything!

'_There will be payment! Everyone needs to pay!!'_

"Alistair!" Just then, Zevran came back racing down the stairs in a hurry. He spotted the warden picking up his sword from the floor and standing over his companion, unmoving. The elf brushed passed him and quickly kneeled at the bed wrapping Cousland in the dirty blanket.

"We need to leave now my friend," he said. "I spotted the guards gathering up their forces just now and they are on their way here. Guess they figured out that their so called impenetrable prison has been…well, penetrated. We cannot delay here any longer." He slipped his arms under her body and held his arm under her back, picking her up into his embrace. She felt unnaturally light in his arms. "I don't know how we're going to manage this but…Alistair, where are you going? Alistair?!"

The elf called out to the templar as he turned his back on his and started up the steps, but received no answer. Gathering Cousland in a comfortable position, Zevran went after the man. He found him leaving the secret room, striding out of the guardsmen's chamber and out the door back into the main hallway. He couldn't help but noticed that as Alistair passed the marbari, the hound whimpered back as he happened to glance at his expression.

"What is that man up to?" Zevran wondered. He signaled the dog and the two of them followed suit.

**Musical Inspiration:**

**1._ "Saw Theme - Hello Zepp" - SAW original movie soundtrack_**


End file.
