dragon age II. anders and fenris. spoilers through act 3. PG-13. characters belong to bioware.
done for a prompt on the kinkmeme - tinyurl . com / 3dtazro
alone, retold
The attack on Danarius' mansion was a surprise, to say the least. After so many years passed with barely any attention from his lingering ghosts in Tevinter, Fenris had begun to assume an assault would never come.
But how wrong he'd been.
A small band of magisters kicked down the rusted hinges of the front door and let themselves in, immediately casting dangerous forbidden magic to cripple his chances of retaliation. The lyrium beneath his skin was worth a fortune, even if they'd never enslave him again. But then, their orders did not demand taking him alive.
Fenris woke with a start, clambering for a knife, a sword, anything to defend himself. He was fearsome enough with his bare hands, but he was sorely outnumbered.
"If you value your lives, you'll leave me!" he barked. "This is your only warning!"
He had no intention to let them live, and the magisters were too foolhardy and arrogant to consider surrender, anyway. Desperate, Fenris rushed down the grand stairs to assault them. If he had one shot, it was this. They'd never expect him to be so rash. What choice did he have? He'd told Hawke he welcomed a visit from his former master, and he fully stood by those words.
He threw himself upon the nearest magister in a fierce array of fists and feet, and managed to drive his knife into the man's chest to the hilt before a burst of energy sent him flying back into the banister. Dazed, he struggled to regain his balance and launch another attack.
The injured magister was already casting healing spells on himself, but Fenris refused to accept that this was the end. He slept in armor for a reason.
He dashed forward again, lashing out with lyrium-augmented strikes, seeking vital organs as his hands tore through his assailants' weak bodies. Mages were hardly known for physical strength. For a fleeting moment he was sure he had the advantage, with two of the magisters lying prone on the floor, blood gurgling in their throats.
Then agonizing bursts of fire hailed down from the ceiling and melted his armor into his skin.
Fenris shouted in horrific pain, scraping at his body in a vain attempt to tear away the searing hot metal, but it was no use. His palms blistered, weeping serous fluid as they ruptured.
With his defenses down, one of the remaining magisters caged him with magic, the crushing intensity of the spell nearly overpowering the burn of his skin. He crumpled onto the stairs, paralyzed and helpless, unable to think of anything but his suffering.
"Get out!"
A flare of blue light struck into the room, and another wave of powerful magic brought all the Tevinter slavers to their knees, gasping on the ground. A second attack, and their hearts utterly stopped, their eyes exploding inside their sockets, minds destroyed from within. The corpses had piled up, and the newcomer stepped over them like so much garbage to approach the fallen warrior.
Anders waved his hand to dispel the enchantments, and Fenris howled in pain, his entire body aflame with burns.
"Make it stop!" he begged. "Please-"
And the mage wasted no time, soothing energy ebbing out from his fingertips to heal and mend. The cool feeling permeated Fenris' mind, calming him as the damage began to undo itself.
His head fell back against the steps, and he stared at the ceiling, unseeing. It was all he could do to simply keep breathing.
"Maker, where'd they come from?" Anders muttered, helping Fenris to sit up.
"Tevinter," Fenris replied dryly, not missing a beat. "One would think Hadriana's death would've kept them away, but evidently not."
Anders continued to weave curative spells through the still night air. Fenris' mansion was stuffy; he doubted that the elf had ever opened the damn windows, for fear of being evicted.
"I know I for one wouldn't be rushing over to Kirkwall to have my guts ripped out," he added, trying to keep his tone light. Both of them were all too aware of what would've become of Fenris if Anders hadn't shown up.
"What are you doing here, mage?" His tone lacked its usual revulsion. "I thought you avoided Hightown."
"Business. Nothing you'd care to be involved in, I'm sure."
Fenris snorted. "I can only imagine what vital business you must attend to at this hour."
Anders sighed. "Look, I don't want to fight you. We've both had enough for one evening, haven't we?"
Fenris regarded him quietly, his brows knitted in inherent distrust of any magic-user. "I suppose you're right."
He shakily rose to his feet, continuing to watch Anders in his peripheral vision. "I... er, thank you."
Anders shrugged amiably. "Oh, it's nothing you and I haven't done a thousand times before. What's a few magisters when I've fought darkspawn?" He smirked. "Unless Tevinter has some contagious disease you've not told me about."
Fenris couldn't help but crack a smile at that. "A hunger for power, perhaps."
"And a fondness for elaborate hats."
Fenris laughed despite himself. "Truer words were never spoken."
Awkwardly, he rubbed at the spatters of blood on his face, and succeeded only in smearing it further into his hair. He was a wreck.
Anders, meanwhile, was picking at his fingernails and occasionally glancing up to his reluctant companion to see if he intended to do or say anything further. He wondered, if not for Hawke, whether they'd have wrung each other's necks years ago.
"You know Hawke would let you stay in the Amell estate, if you'd just ask."
Fenris pressed his lips into a thin line. "I am aware."
Anders had little to add to that. "Well, ah... try to get some rest, then, huh?" Anders suggested, quirking an eyebrow. "I'll see you in the morning, or whenever."
With that, the mage slung his staff onto his back and exited, his boots clunking heavily on the lavish flooring and out onto the Hightown cobblestone. Fenris watched him for a moment, silent, the broken door toppled in the foyer.
At last he turned to retreat upstairs. He'd have to sleep in one of the spare rooms tonight.