a/n: so I'm going to sort of write this with parallels to the actual dragon age story. This in mind, as I go, feel free to make suggestions of scenes you would like to see converted because I really have no direction at this point, besides my kink for naughty religious figures (I'm going to hell). eventually there will be triggers (i. e. mentions of non-con, abuse, dub-con, violence, demon-slaying (is that a trigger? Idk) etc.) so you've been warned. This is supposed to be a horror story with some scrumptious fenders mixed in, and horror is something I've yet to explore (because i get really bad nightmares from watching something as tame as the mummy lol) so I hope you will be forgiving if that aspect is slightly understated. I know you're all just here for the gay stuff anyway :p
Horror, Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe, Suspense, Thriller
Fenris/Anders
Of Faith and Madness
I.
"You'll forgive me if I don't call you Father, sir," the woman states blandly, eyes hard and chin forward in what Fenris considered unwarranted obstinacy. "I had one father, and he's passed on."
"Of course," he responds, not missing a beat. "Servants of the lord are nothing if not forgiving, ma'am." He twitches at the urge to end the sentence with a sassy 'my child' instead.
She relaxes, barely, arms uncrossing as she turns to lead him up the stairway. With a sigh and a small smile she says also, "Then perhaps you will forgive me the rude welcome as well. This is not your doing, after all." She spares a glance back at him as she halts outside a large mahogany door with a small, gleaming plague that says 'Administrator's Office.'
"I just have my doubts about some holy warrior showing up to fend off demons. Don't really believe in demons. Evil comes from man." Her mouth is a thin line, eyes daring him to tell her otherwise, and hand hovering in the air by the door, not knocking yet.
Fenris agrees with the latter, but says to her, "A demon can take hold of you whether or not you believe. God is your only shield against evil."
"Haven't heard from him lately either," she mutters, not quite rolling her eyes.
Her orderly's uniform is stiff and oversized, hugging too closely to nothing and effectively hiding any curves that may exist, her copper hair pulled back painfully tight under her white hat, but he imagines that to one who harbored desires of the flesh, she would be appealing, if for no other reason than her outright lack of approachability. Want is the human condition after all.
She continues to eye him skeptically and raps three times against the door, the sound falling flat against the reflective finish. This door is the only such one in the large, barren hall. All else is white and sterile. Fenris is unused to the absence of lavish decoration in religious structures. For all the church objects to materialism, they certainly decorate their places of worship as though it were demanded by God himself.
The door opens, slow and staccato, as though the person pulling it is unused to the weight.
"Ah, Aveline," a man greets cordially, from inside the office, "Is Varric back then?"
"No, sir," she responds, hands clasping behind her idly. It's done lazily, natural, but the result is rather reminiscent of standing at attention. "The priest is here."
His eyes find Fenris behind her and blonde eyebrows shoot up in pleasant surprise. "Father Fenris, is it?" he asks, holding the door open further to allow Fenris entrance. "Please come in."
Once Fenris stands inside the office, he hears the man say quietly to the orderly, "Thank you, Aveline. Would you please inform me the moment Varric returns? There is an urgent matter that I would not be comfortable attending to without his presence."
"Of course, sir."
The man turns back now, letting the door close and with it, letting out a puff of exasperated air.
"Been one of those weeks, you know?"
Fenris responds with a noncommittal noise and a shrug, because he doubts he knows much about it at all. Doesn't want to.
"Please, have a seat, Father," he tells him in a tired voice, striding around to a large metal desk, littered sparsely with various missives and files that dearly need organization. Noticing with a vague, inexplicable annoyance that it is the smaller of two desks in the office, and closer to the door, Fenris does as asked, seating himself in a small wooden chair and looking across at the man.
"I'm Cullen Rutherford," he informs Fenris with a sheepish almost-smile, plopping down into a seat, himself with the weight of one too tired to be bothered with the appearance of grace. "I'm the assistant administrator of St. Shartan's."
At the resigned look that Fenris failed to stop in time, he continues quickly, "I'm very sorry, Father, we were not expecting you for another week at least. Unfortunately Meredith was called away for a few days."
"I see," Fenris responds, speaking to the man for the first time. "You understand that I can perform no rituals, cleansings or exorcisms without her presence then."
"Honestly, we did not think the Cardinal would get back to us so soon."
With a rueful smile that God would frown upon, Fenris replies, "He has taken a special interest in this case."
Cullen nods and rests his chin on his fist, apparent exhaustion allowing him this small lapse in professionalism. Fenris supposes this happened fairly often to those of the clergy. Many felt more comfortable in the presence of a priest, and he doubted it was him in particular. He never made much of an effort to make people more comfortable around him. That was not his calling.
"With good reason," Cullen says when Fenris doesn't elaborate, "The last incident had all of solitary in a frenzy."
"Solitary," Fenris repeats the word carefully as though it might shatter in his mouth and sully him.
"Right? Strange that this should happen to all seven patients at the same time when they are entirely isolated."
Fenris does not want to continue on this subject. In fact, he'd just as soon avoid the solitary confinement ward if he could.
"I did some research on your institution as I traveled," he says to divert the conversation.
"Not my institution," Cullen scoffs, but instead of petulance, Fenris suspects it's more disapproval. He knows many men would be ashamed to work under a woman. He doesn't sense that from Cullen.
"What is your opinion on the Administrator?" Fenris asks, allowing himself to lean back, so that he could study Cullen's reaction. Any subtlety that would alert him to a lie.
He shifts uncomfortably, the casual stance reverting to a stiff, militaristic appearance that he shared with the Head Orderly, Aveline.
"She is experienced," he tells him warily, "Was a doctor overseas, tended to wounded soldiers. When she came back, she helped the survivors heal their minds. That was the original purpose of this hospital. She founded it with post-traumatic stress disorder in mind, but there are many sicknesses that fall into the mental category. Eventually she hired a diverse enough medical staff to handle them."
"I see," Fenris breathes, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth in thought. He fidgets in his seat for a moment, constantly unnerved by the malicious energies he could feel throughout the building, had noticed before he exited the automobile. "I'm going to be honest with you," he tells Cullen at last. "Actually, I should say I'm going to be blunt with you."
Cullen leans forward, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped, bracing himself for what Fenris has to say.
"What I've read about the asylum's-"
"Hospital," Cullen interjects, and Fenris' teeth click together before he continues.
"What I've read about the intitution's recent years is unsettling to say the least, but there are many such institutions with similar occurrences that can be chalked up to the simple fact that there are too many sick minds and not enough staff."
Cullen appears to be on the verge of objecting, so Fenris holds up a hand and presses on.
"That being said, I do believe that here, at least, this is not the case." He moves again in his chair, causing the legs to scrape against the cheap, white tile, leaving gray scuff marks in their wake. Cullen's eyes widen as though he senses Fenris' unease. "A majority of your staff here come from military backgrounds, correct?"
Cullen bobs his head once, a stiff affirmative.
"War will ravage even the strongest of human minds. Nearly all of you have spent time on the battlefield."
"And?" Cullen presses, defensive now that he's gaged the direction.
"I fear that this has created a festering, breeding ground for demonic presence. A sound mind with the best of intentions is just as capable of drawing the attention of evil, but this place has over 100 troubled minds and I suspect that the minds of at least half your staff are troubled as well."
The indignant expression on Cullen's face did not make Fenris regret the rather frank observation.
"Perhaps," Cullen concedes. "There are certainly days when my own sanity comes into question." He offers Fenris a wry smile, which he returns, relaxing only slightly and tapping his fingers calmly along the hand carved armrest of his chair.
"I assumed I would be housed on site for my stay," Fenris admits, and then adds, "And I expected it to be a very short one. Shall I have the church make arrangements at a hotel, instead? I can tell that you were unprepared."
"Nonsense," Cullen says. "The nearest one is almost 20 miles. I'll have our groundskeeper set you up in the staff dormitory." He hesitates then, "If he ever gets back."
Fenris raises his eyebrows in question.
"Whatever the case, I'll have a room set up for you there," he says, waving as though he were shooing the prospect from his head. "In the meantime, let's find someone to show you around."
Fenris nearly groans aloud. He would rather see as little of this place as possible.
To his surprise (and relief) the main building is not included in his tour. He is first shown the small visitation center, used for when loved ones come to call. It's connected to an activity hall, which he understands serves as some sort of recreation room for the patients. Both of these rooms are furnished nicely with plush sofas and arm chairs, coffee tables and various boardgames. In the rec. room there is a corner with a grand piano and beside it, several cases that appear to house string and woodwind instruments.
Isabela, the young and saucy nurse assigned to be his guide, notices his interest and smirks.
"Would you like to hear the orchestra play tonight?" she asks him, one finger going to her cheek in question. Face the picture of innocence, but Fenris feels what's coming. "Tell me, Father, what does music sound like in heaven?"
He doesn't look at her when he answers, and instead runs a finger across the slightly dusty window, letting the cool glass steel him. "I wouldn't know. Never been."
He feels her crowd in on him, not touching, but hovering. "Oh, but I know. You want to hear?" her breath comes out hot and right on the side of his neck. He hadn't known she was so close, and he starts, putting distance between them in one, quick stride.
"I can wait," he responds firmly, still not looking, because he's had a weakness for Latin women in the past, and he's still the same man he was, even if he found his calling. "Why is no one here?" he asks her, noticing at last that his current discomfort is really due to the emptiness of the room. He'd had no desire to see the patients, but the utter lack of them feels wrong here. The dust on his finger triggers an alarm in his mind. It seems these rooms haven't been used in a while. He feels a chill run up the back of his neck and isn't soothed by Isabela's sudden hesitation.
"It's not visiting hours," she answers, leaning back against a couch with her hip jutting out. Fenris' eyes are drawn to the slant of it and wonders why she is allowed such a low-cut uniform when Aveline's was quite the opposite. "Also, it's dinner time. Those not in solitary will be in the mess hall."
"That makes sense." His serenity is a lie. "Perhaps you would guide me there next?"
She gives him a cheeky grin, "Only if I can guide you to bed after, Your Holiness."
As she walks away out onto the grounds, an intentional sway in her hips, he follows, resisting the urge to respond, 'I am not holy.'
He doesn't take the tray of food offered, only a glass of water, and sits down next to Cullen at a table at the front of the room. The floor here is raised and the chairs line up only on one side. It is clearly for the orderlies and nurses to sit and observe in case of trouble. He is surprised to see an administrator, assistant or no, dining amongst the few straggling patients who've yet to finish their meals.
"Captain!" a cheery, tall young man greets, bounding up onto the table's stage and crouching down with his arms crossed on the surface to look Cullen in the eyes. "Fancy meeting you here!"
Two alarmed orderlies appear to lunge toward him before Cullen stays them calmly.
"Watch yourself, Hawke," he says quietly, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.
"What's wrong, pal?" he asks, smile going a little manic, and making him look more like he belongs here. "Think I'm out for vengeance?"
Cullen's brows knit together sternly. "Don't threaten me, Garrett."
"Oooo, are we on a first name basis, Cullen?"
The Assistant Administrator stands up, and the patient follows his lead, each leaning over the table, hands resting in front of them.
"Bethany is the only reason, you're not in solitary with the other two, Hawke," Cullen says, gritting his teeth.
"Bethany is the only reason we're in this mess at all," Hawke retorts, scowling. His eyes dart out to the side and lock onto Fenris, running over his attire. The tension breaks and Hawke sighs. "Really? A priest? Anders is a doctor. You have to know that he was helping her!"
Cullen's face hardens to stone, voice coming out sharp and cold as the iceberg that sunk the Titanic.
"Was a doctor, Hawke, the worst kind of doctor. Would you tell me that Merrill is in her right mind as well?"
"No!" Hawke seethes, "Merrill is nuts, but that doesn't mean that someone with the knowledge to save her should have to suffer for putting that knowledge to use."
"Ridiculous! There were at least three actual doctors near you at the time. Regardless, the decision wasn't mine, it was Meredith's." Hawke is positively snarling with rage. Cullen smiles then. "Would you like me to convey your concerns to her?"
"No thanks," Hawke grumbles, backing away instantly, as though he'd been shoved. Fenris watches somewhat anxiously, noting that the atmosphere around this patient, dark and oppressive, is in severe contrast with the manner in which he speaks and acts. Other than that, he behaves rather sensibly for a lunatic, Fenris thinks, though he wonders why Cullen would speak so familiarly with him.
"Please, Cullen," Hawke begs, face crumpling slightly, "it's been a month. Don't you think they've learned their lesson?"
"Not my call," Cullen responds, face betraying no hint of sentiment. He turns to address the Head Orderly who has just walked in, and appears to be regretting it now that the Assistant Administrator has spotted her. "Aveline, escort Hawke to his room, would you? Wouldn't want him getting lost."
"Of course, sir." Aveline sighs, glancing briefly at the other two orderlies as though she might send one of them, but decides against it, "C'mon, Hawke, you heard the Captain." Hawke goes with her, shoulders slumping in defeat.
Fenris wants to ask Cullen about the dusty rec. room, and empty visitor's lounge, but knows he'll likely clam up. He'll have to save such queries for the Administrator herself.
"What is he here for?" Fenris asks, taking a sip of water and realizing his thirst only after, "I saw no signs of an obvious condition." He takes another slightly longer drink, but resists draining the glass all at once.
"Why do you ask?" Cullen demands suspiciously.
Fenris swallows hard, having taken too much water into his mouth and responds, slightly pained, "I simply want to understand what constitutes insanity."
Cullen frowns and Fenris wishes that he hadn't been too distracted by the pain of swallowing so much at once to choose his words more carefully.
"Forgive me, I meant that I wish to know exactly how troubled the mind must be for the individual to be admitted here." This time he is very careful and manages not to say 'committed.' He can tell that Cullen is sensitive about phrasing.
"Hawke is a special case," Cullen says with a grudging look in the direction they left, "His family is very well off, but despite this, he has a terrible compulsion to take things that don't belong to him. Never needs the things, doesn't even want them, really. Just wants to have them, he says."
"What's special about that?"
"He got caught, but his family's connections won him a choice. It was treatment or jail."
"What is his treatment?" Fenris wonders.
"I know little about it," Cullen tells him, finishing the last of his meal and pushing the plate aside. "You would have to ask Dr. Orsino."
The dining room clears gradually, orderlies and nurses gently ushering the last of the patients out and to their respective rooms, and conversation with Cullen has fizzled out entirely by this point.
True to her word, Isabela turns up to show Fenris to his quarters. He had held on to the tiny hope that Cullen would also be turning in and he wouldn't be subjected to Isabela's flirtations, but was quickly disillusioned when Cullen left in the direction of his office, explaining that he had several stacks of paperwork to fill out before the morning.
Fenris would just have to be strong.
He follows her outside and she slows to fall into stride with him, no longer attempting to flaunt her various assets, it seems.
"Hawke has everyone's heart here," she says casually as if it was the most natural thing to bring up. A chilly breeze sweeps the grounds and she holds her skirt down lazily and rather ineffectively. Fenris averts his gaze. "Saw you looking at him." There's suggestion and accusation there that doesn't go unnoticed.
"I look at everyone," Fenris tells her. "I have to."
He hears the smile in her tone, "Not looking at me."
"I've already seen what I need to."
She whistles. "You're awfully cold for a man of God."
He can't argue. He knows he isn't the comfort most people are looking for, but he gets the job done, and that is his only purpose. The ice in his soul is the shield provided to him, enabling him to do the Lord's work.
Or so he tells himself.
.end chapter.
a/n: i'm really excited about this. should have researched more, but i'll get to it later. this is set some time after the sinking of the titanic i guess since i used that metaphor. but not modern times. still old enough for a psych. hospital to be super creepy. (not that they aren't still, just less so)