Spellbound

5. The Prison

Lavellan rubbed his strained wrists. While the other elf dumped the leather bindings in a bucket to deal with later, the Dalish swiped his eyes through the tall room.

The innards of the mansion led him to guess that it had the lofty towers mages enjoyed doing their shady business in. The wall beyond the floating orb was made of colourful stained glass that reflected the light in no particular pattern.

Golden snakes wound around the obsidian pillars, carrying the upper floor. The furniture was made of wood as black as the stone, and the polished floor under thick red carpets matched the near translucent blackness.

The slave returned while Lavellan eyed the people milling about. Everyone he saw seemed to be a slave or servant of some sort. They looked healthy and complacent with their work, but he didn't let that shine fool him. In a luxurious home seeping magic from every corner, that might be a mere illusion to trick him into submission.

The Iron Bull disappeared through a door sideways so his massive horns fit through. With him out of sight, Lavellan was less apprehensive about asking questions.

"What is your name?" He eyed the odd markings under the other elf's skin. They looked like tattoos, but at the same time, they didn't. Different from Lavellan's vallaslin which were etched under his skin with a dark colour, this elf's marks looked like carefully carved scars rather than space for colour. Something correlating to them was off about him and Lavellan bet it had to do with him smelling of magic.

"I'm Fenris," he said, voice curt in its impatience to continue their elongated first meeting. He seemed the grumpy type, dark eyebrows drawn into a constant frown that mismatched his snow-white hair. The perpetual expression of displeasure surprised Lavellan. He had expected submissive cowering, but he was glad that this elf held his back straight and seemed more than ready to fight anyone for angering him. The relationship between Fenris and the Bull hadn't seemed too bad, so perhaps Lavellan had an accomplice during his escape.

So long as he didn't anger Fenris, of course. He didn't look to be up for jests.

"I'm Lavellan," he offered in a signal of mutual understanding. Perhaps Fenris was an apprentice? But no, the Bull was no mage. Perhaps a mage was around somewhere and either served the Bull or was his wife.

Lavellan shuddered at the idea of a human or Elven wife to a massive Qunari warrior.

"Follow me." Fenris nodded over his shoulder and rushed off through an adjoining door. Lavellan complied sceptically. As he passed, his eyes lingered on the purple amethyst eyes of the snakes hugging the pillars to hiss at passersby with their golden jaws wide open.

Beyond the door was a kitchen. All kinds of vegetables and fruits piled on tables and counters. A skinned rabbit, a gutted pig, and a bunch of feathered chickens lay to the side. The scent of fish dominated the room.

Several slaves scurried around as they prepared mountains of food. Their busy hands moved so fast it became difficult to track their movement as they peeled potatoes and carrots, stirred stews and soups, and hacked meat.

Fenris gestured at a free stool in the corner near the fireplace that had various loaves of bread baking inside.

"We're preparing a feast for today. You will help us with work and I will show you your quarters later so you can get some rest. Are you hungry?"

Overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught, Lavellan just nodded. Cooking sounded like an easy task. Would he become a kitchen helper like the many others here? Fenris didn't seem like the classic cook.

While Fenris fetched him a few ingredients from those available for the servants to eat, Lavellan perched on the stool to tend to the fire. He was glad to sit for once, and even if the unfamiliar voices and scents baffled him, he could take a break during this lazy task.