Part 7
Sebastian had hoped to spend the day in prayer, readying himself for the night ahead. He was not looking forward to telling Fenris that for sake of his vows, he would have to stop his visits. He felt sick to his gut at the thought of what Fenris's reaction would be, and was torn about when he would tell the elf. He still planned to give Fenris a last night of pleasure, but could not decide if he would soften the blow, or make it all the more painful to state his intent before or after bringing Fenris to release. His usual chores around the chantry were taken care of by others, given his recent encounter with the sharp end of a high dragon, and he had thought that by the end of the day, he might have the words that would cause as little hurt to Fenris as possible.
But, as usual, Hawke was there to complicate things.
"'Lo Sebastian, I have need of your arrows if you are able. Varric is nursing a hangover, and Isabella is off chasing the idiot that bested her at cards last night. Whether to kiss him or kill him, I could not guess. Anders tells me that you ought to be well enough to boost our numbers, care for a little adventure?"
Only Hawke would approach someone bare days after a high dragon had dug out a chuck of flesh from their chest, and try to enlist their help on another of his stupidly brave ventures. Had it not been for Fenris, trailing after Hawke and Anders as they climbed the chantry steps, and looking at Sebastian as if he were made of glass, Sebastian would have held a hand against his healed scars, given an apologetic shake of the head and sent Hawke on whatever mischief he had planned without him. However, that would suggest to Fenris that he was still in process of recovery, and unable to see him yet. To reassure Fenris, Sebastian gave a nod and went to fetch his bow and quiver.
Hawke's mabari, Narf-Narf was urinating on the chantry board by the time Sebastian joined them, and he shot Hawke an accusatory look, knowing that it was not beyond the rogue to suggest the spot for his dog. Hawke only laughed, and started to lead his gathered group of swords and staffs and bows onwards.
Then of course, Anders fell into step beside him, checking in on the 'patient', and unintentionally excluding Fenris from being able to come near and speak with Sebastian. This irked the archer, but try as he might, Anders would not be dissuaded from a seemingly endless barrage of questions;
"Does it cause you pain still?"
"It did for the first day or two, but seems fine now. I have had the bow out in the courtyard, and it seems not to have affected my form."
"Did you actually take the day of rest I recommended?"
"Elthina insisted upon it. I have been on lighter duties, despite my protests. Maker knows we are busier than ever, and I am healed and able. I would much rather be helping out, but as Elthina has deemed me weak as a kitten, I might as well come out with you and Hawke and do battle with whatever it is that stands in our way this day."
That wasn't quite true, but Sebastian did not care to mention that Elthina had granted him time from his duties, that he might contemplate whether he wished to stay with the chantry or not.
The mage gave a half-shrug, "It's safe... or should be. We are just gathering some components for a potion." An emotion Sebastian could not quite place crossed Anders's face, and he quirked his head towards Sebastian. "Busy you say?"
"Given that we are housing a mass of freed slaves in the dorms, and that the city seems to be of a mood to embrace its faith, the chantry is nearly full to capacity. I have seen that on a good evening, with no rain to put people off, there are more people than pews. It is very busy… but heartening."
Anders did not mirror Sebastian's smile at the comment, and looked uncomfortable. Sebastian had rather hoped this meant he would be given a chance to speak with Fenris, who he had not seen since receiving his injury, but as they turned down a set of steps in Darktown, which creaked under the weight of the men, Hawke called a stop.
"This the place?" His voice was strong and carried with a resounding echo, and any chance they might have had of sneaking in to collect whatever it was they were after without alerting every single lowlife vanished. As if to compliment his master, Narf-Narf barked at the hatchway, which smelled distinctly unpleasant.
Anders gave a nod.
"A sewer. You want us to go into the sewers of Darktown?" Sebastian was incredulous, and crossed his arms over his chest. With a wide grin, Hawke lifted the wooden door that had been placed as a cover from the pit.
"Yep. A sewer. Good thing you're not a prince of anything, or you might feel yourself too good to go trudging about in the shit of Darktown."
Sebastian would not let himself rise to Hawke's bait, and frankly felt ashamed that the man who called himself a rogue could be quite so obvious. Swinging a leg over the side of the hole, he let himself drop to the floor below, finding it not as bad as he had imagined. The floor was almost dry, and though the smell was certainly enough to curl his nosehairs, it was no worse than some of the slaver caves of the Wounded Coast, or the pits of Sundermount.
Fenris followed, and Sebastian and the elf were given a bare moment alone, in which they exchanged a lingering glance. Sebastian hoped he had managed to convey that he was indeed recovered, and that he had missed Fenris, and that he was thankful for Fenris's thoughtfulness in letting Elthina know the situation, and retrieving his bow and armour from Darktown before one of Anders's less honourable patients pinched them.
There was a loud clatter and thump as Hawke, trying to hold Narf-Narf's weight and jump rather than try to coax the mabari down the pit landed beside them. Dusting himself off, he shouted up to Anders.
"Get yourself down here, as it was your sodding idea. And don't bother with a mage light, I'd rather not see what I'm stepping in."
Anders dropped down in a flurry of robes and feathers, and Fenris took a step back, scowl returning at the mage responsible for the assault of their noses.
Sela Petrae, the strange regent Anders sought, was fairly easy to come by, but the amount he needed was more problematic. Not to mention the lyrium smugglers and apostate magi that took offence to their territory being invaded. The resulting battle was brief, and though Sebastian could draw his arrows without pain, his aim was poor, and his chest felt heated and tight after the excursion. He was stretching his arm quietly, hoping no-one would have noticed his difficulty. Luckily, the near-constant bickering between Fenris and Anders had started up again, masking his discomfort.
"Doesn't it just show you? That these mages would rather live in a cesspit than in the circle."
"It shows that the mages would rather attack and try to burn the flesh from our bones rather than try to talk."
Whether Hawke had trained Narf-narf to intervene when arguments between mage and elf got too heated, or that the mabari's good nature and better sense was in play, when the great mutt shook the encrusted filth from his fur in a spray of stinking mud and Maker knows what else, it did succeed in causing both Fenris and Anders to stop and turn angrily to Hawke, who was always held responsible for Narf-Narf's actions.
"Hawke! Control him!"
"That was… unpleasant…."
The mabari gave a cheerful bark, and then went off to sniff at a particularly foul corner.
The carta assassin, who had been hiding in the shadows rather successfully until Narf-Narf bumped against his leg, cursed in dwarven, and suddenly the fetid air was again filled with shouts and the clash of metal.
Hawke seemed delighted at this turn of events, and was merrily trading blows with one of the carta thugs who had emerged, while Narf-Narf threw himself at the hapless assassin. Anders had backed off against a wall, and was throwing magic about Hawke, covering him against the other thugs who had decided that the man wielding two daggers made for a better target than the glowing elf with a sword bigger than any of them.
Sebastian did not see the second assassin stealth behind him, he was too much trying to will his arrows to fly true, rather than accidentally hit his friends. What he did feel, was a sharp pain between his ribs on his already injured side. He sank to the floor, the notched arrow losing its tension and clattering to the ground beside him as the assassin moved to place his second dagger in his windpipe. With a grunt, Sebastian swung his bow upwards, catching the dwarf under the chin, winding him.
He would have dearly liked to be able to climb back to his feet, and finish the assassin off, but his lungs screamed for air. Though he tried to breathe, every breath he took made a worrying gurgle in his chest.
"Sebastian!"
His vision had narrowed a dark blur, but he heard Fenris's call clear. He felt a flurry of movement, and what must have been the assassin's last words cut short as a sword severed head from body.
"Mage! Now!" Fenris's voice was loud, nearing on desperate, and then, quieter, "Please."
Whether Anders heard that last word or not, Sebastian couldn't tell, but he felt the healing magic touch him, warm and cool at the same time, and the sting of the flesh mending under the mage's hands. Strangely, his other hand was being held, on the opposite side of Anders, and it took his a moment to blearily realise that the gauntlet he could feel pressed against his palm was familiar. iFenris/i.
Any thought he might have formed in response was lost as he gave a cough, and could taste blood, and feel its sticky heat dribble down his chin.
"Why haven't you healed him!" Fenris's voice was too low now, too tight and angry. Sebastian dragged in a breath, the last of the blood clearing from his lungs. No doubt he did look a sight, and could well understand Fenris's panic that he was getting worse. He tried to open his eyes, to choke out a reassurance, but his body was too busy remembering how to breathe.
"I have…" Anders's tone was equally dangerous, and hardly helping the situation. "You can tell on account of him not being dead."
He could make out in the distance Hawke and his mabari still engaged with something trying to kill them, and though it would take a small army to take down the hero of Kirkwall, without him or Narf-Narf, Sebastian worried that there was nothing to keep the two from coming to blows.
He grasped blindly for Fenris's hand, to hold him, ground him, but Anders must have mistook his clumsy movement for a flail, and the mage tried to knock the elf's hand away.
"What are you doing, you demented elf? Let him go!"
"Do not touch me!" Fenris roared.
Suddenly, Sebastian saw bright blue light pierce through his eyelids, even with his eyes shut. Whether it was Fenris or Anders, he could not tell, but there was no mistaking the pained yelp that followed was the mage's. Finally, he managed to open his eyes, and saw that Fenris had grabbed Anders by the wrist, and was twisting viciously.
"Fenris… Fenris, please stop." Sebastian could hear how weak his words came out, and unheard they did nothing to deter Fenris from tightening his grip. Anders's mouth was open in a cry of pain, as bone ground against bone. Fenris did stop however, when he felt the edge of Hawke's dagger press against his neck.
"Fenris, if you do not release him right this instant, I will not hesitate to burry this dagger deep into your throat." Hawke, bloodied and all but growling out his words, was standing so still he might have been one of the stone statues in the gallows courtyard, but instead of suffering, his stance was nothing but rage.
For an instant, Fenris looked like he might just continue crushing Anders's wrist.
"Fenris. Stop." Something in him allowed his voice to be heard this time, and Sebastian gave thanks to the Maker for such a miracle.
Anders made an indignant yelp as Fenris loosened his hand, and stepped back, his lyrium still flickering with the energy of the outburst. Hawke moved stand between Anders and the elf, his body practically thrumming with fury. Narf-narf, looking half the size he was, ears flat, made a hopeful whimper to attract Hawke's attention, but Hawke's eyes were fixed and glaring at Fenris.
"Care to explain what the fuck just happened….?"
If there had been anybody left in the sewers, they would have surely fled upon hearing the threatening tone of Hawke's voice.
"My fault…" Sebastian coughed, and gathered himself to his feet, refusing to let the flare of pain in his side stop him. Anders, Fenris and, thankfully, Hawke turned to see the archer sway unsteadily, then plant his feet in a firmer stance upon the ground.
"I was disoriented, hurt. I grabbed out at Fenris too much too rough, and he must have thought it was Anders. Entirely my fault. I apologise."
Hawke flicked his gaze to Anders, who did not say anything to contradict Sebastian, and, with reluctance, put his dagger away.
"Right. We're done here."
If Anders disagreed with Hawke's declaration, he kept it to himself, but as they started to file to the exit, he stayed with Hawke between himself and Fenris. The elf walked with a stiffness, and kept looking to make sure Sebastian was not about to fall over. A stifling silence hung over the group, and Sebastian thought there would be nothing worse than for Hawke to leave Fenris hanging like that, no hint as to where he and the rogue might stand.
They dragged a half smashed crate over, to serve as a step to help them get out of the stinking cesspit, and though it would be unsteady, it looked like it might be able to bear the weight of a man in armour. Just before Hawke moved to clamber back into what little daylight Darktown offered, he turned to Fenris and Sebastian.
"Make no mistake, if you so much as touch Anders again, I will end you." He said, eyes full of a fierce possessiveness, that Anders did not look entirely comfortable with.
With a grunt and heave, he pulled himself upwards, and then reached down to help Anders. With considerably more effort he hoisted the mabari, who no longer barked happily nor wag his little stub of a tail. He did not offer hand to either Sebastian or Fenris, and left in the darkness, listening to Hawke's footsteps grow faint, Sebastian cursed himself, because one look at Fenris, at the way his posture had slumped into itself, his hands clenched into tight fists and his expression grim, told him that those bitterly delivered words were much, much worse.
No matter how much he hid the wince from his face, Fenris would not trust that Sebastian could walk back to the chantry alone, and hovered nervously beside him. It was all the archer could do to keep the weight of the bow and quiver on his own shoulders, rather than have Fenris cart them for him as if he were too weak to manage on his own. Sebastian made a brave show of walking without assistance, careful to keep his teeth ungritted when the odd heavy step jarred his ribs.
"… The mansion has a washroom. You'd be welcome to use it."
That Fenris had been so quiet had been bothering Sebastian, but he could not concentrate on both not showing his pain, and trying to start a conversation, and so they had been walking in an almost laughable awkward silence. The elf's words were welcome, and not only because it was good to hear something other than his own laboured breaths, but the content of his offer was enticing. The thought of the cramped, and at present over-crowded, facilities at the chantry was hardly appealing, and Sebastian could only imagine the high cleric's response if he should bring his filthy armour in to scrub in the communal area. He did have a spare set of clothes at Fenris's mansion, and though he dearly wanted to have the time to think things over, the idea of a proper bath was much too much to resist.
Fenris too, continued to worry him, though his words offered some measure of relief. His voice was too small for the warrior, the same flat emotionless delivery that usually heralded a violent outburst later if left unchecked. Sebastian could practically hear Fenris internally berating himself for letting his anger get the better of him and react so viciously against Anders. That Fenris's temper had flared up when touched unexpectedly, while panicking that Sebastian had been coughing up blood, was not exactly surprising, but the fury of Hawke's reaction had been.
Hawke was many things, reckless and brave, valiant and skilled. Perhaps not the most truthful of heroes, nor the most tactful, but he did tend to get the job done. He was not however, the type to growl out idle threats, and if the chantry had not looked so sourly upon betting, Sebastian would have put money on the fact that Hawke was very serious when he warned Fenris against ever again lashing out against Anders.
Strangely, he did not think Hawke would have had quite the same response if it had been the hero himself faced with an angry glowing elf. Probably laughed it off in the hanged man the very same evening, but that it had been Anders that had been the target, had seemed to incite a fury in Hawke that Sebastian had not seen before. It felt uncomfortable, that the great hero of Kirkwall could display such rage, and possess the look of a man that might indeed slash out against allies.
Part of Sebastian was almost glad he intended to remove himself from Hawke, and his dangerous expeditions, before those deadly daggers had a chance to turn upon him. That part was the same that thought that Fenris was too complicated to pursue, and that the idea of ruling Starkhaven seemed like entirely too much work. That the chantry was a safe, and above all, an easy lifestyle, free from having to try and make difficult moral judgements alone and fret over the consequences. It was much simpler to have Elthina take all the responsibility, and trust that the Maker's chosen would always make the right decisions.
Sebastian hated that weaker part of him, that always sought out the easy path, but could not deny that if he wanted to live a full life without ending up in a dragon's stomach, or crippled by one of the many thugs they battled with on almost a daily basis, or bled out by a powerful blood mage (that they seemed to come across every other day), there was some sense in paying heed to its call. The fact that in the space of a week he had been felled a second time only proved that.
That, however, did not help with trying to fathom how he was best to handle Fenris, and somehow find strength to share his decision to return to the chantry and respect his vows. Elthina could give no guidance, and though he knew he was dedicating his life to serve the Maker, there was no line from the chant of light that did not sound unconvincing in his mind to bolster his resolve.
"The use of your washroom would be appreciated…" Sebastian said carefully, watching to see if Fenris had only offered through politeness.
The way the elf's eyes reclaimed some of their spark made his heart lurch, and he wondered if this was his punishment for bending the rules of his vows. It seemed to fit, that even as he tried to do the right thing, the path was difficult, and a test of his renewed commitment.
They did not speak further as they turned to go to the mansion Fenris had claimed, Danarius dead and unable to force the squatter from the dusty and dark hallways and unkempt rooms.
"Make yourself comfortable, and I shall set up the washroom…." Fenris walked through one of the side passages before Sebastian could offer his assistance, and the archer sighed.
His head felt too full to try and piece together a plan, to bring together words that would not only give Fenris a much deserved evening where Sebastian repaid the elf for his understanding and selfless service for the prince's pleasure, but also bring these 'sessions' to a close without causing a glowing blue fist to rip out his heart. The temptation to delay for another time, a time when his ribs did not ache, and he was not distracted by Hawke's terrifying loss of control. It was certainly had some merit, to wait another day, though he knew that it would only make it harder for himself, and for Fenris the longer he left it. Still, at present his mind was a jumble, and there was little wisdom in making decisions when he could hardly hold himself standing.
He had almost resigned himself to having a simple wash, then leaving and trying again another day, when he heard wood shattering, as if a chair had been thrown across the room by a qunari.
He hoisted his bow and notched an arrow, something in the air causing him to greatly desire to be armed, remembering too well the shades that had invested the mansion the first time he had met Fenris. Softening his steps till they made almost no sound, he started to walk towards the source of the commotion, thankful for sake of his ribs that it came from the ground level, and not up the stairs.
He found Fenris, sword drawn, attacking the remains of a door. He watched, confused and just a little wary of the way the elf threw his full bodyweight behind each blow, teeth bared. The assault continued till the door was little more than shards and splinters, and then Fenris realised he was not alone. He lowered his sword, an old blade, hurriedly, and gestured to the room behind him.
The room was like the rest of the mansion, weak light and a thin layer of grime covering all the walls and surfaces, but there was a smoothness under the dust that Sebastian recognised to be marble. The entire room was covered in sheets of marble, and in the middle of the room was a large bath, with seats craved into the stone. Hollow holes, that looked like they might connect together under the bath, were cut into the stone at three points spaced around the massive pit. There was a pump, standing tall and proud by the bath, and though Sebastian had thought he had seen luxury in his home castle, never before had he seen such a washroom.
He only remembered to let his bow arm relax, and the arrow safely fall into his hands when Fenris came forwards with a gathered armload of the broken door. The elf let the wood fall into the nearest pit, then used his foot to kick the last few shards down into the hollow.
"Fenris…" Sebastian breathed, "This place is a marvel…"
"I am glad you like it. If you pile your armour by the door, you can rinse it afterwards."
Sebastian was aware of how fragrant he was, Fenris as well, and wondered how Fenris had managed to keep such a secret. He nodded gratefully, and started to lift the heavy plates of armour from his chest. His ribs certainly appreciated the lack of metal, and he allowed himself a couple of deep breaths without the constricting white and gold. As he moved to begin pumping water while Fenris saw to the fires to heat the bath, he realised that the bath was dusty, unused.
He pumped the handle a couple of times, getting the water to flow, and thought the first gush was dark with mud, the water soon started to run clear. Sebastian leaned over the edge, and began to wipe the dust from the sides and bottom of the grey marble, letting the water wash the grime from the smooth stone. As his hand passed over the seam where one piece of marble met another, he recognised the dwarven craftsmanship, and he nodded with appreciation.
Placing the stone seal, again, so well made that it fit exactly, and would not swell when submerged as wood might, into the drainage hole, Sebastian straightened, then set about the rhythmic work of using the pump to fill the bath. His ribs occasionally sent a small jolt of pain, but otherwise he was content to let his body rock with the regular motion, noting that it would take an age before the bath was full, as it was such a large volume to fill. Before his muscles started to burn unpleasantly, he paused, and turned his head to Fenris, smiling warmly at the sight of the elf, and the prospect of soon being able to sink into hot water and rid himself of the lingering stench of Darktown sewers.
Fenris had busied himself, filling each of the hollows with firewood, and then nursing a flame in a pile of the smallest pieces of door and a dry rag, striking the flint off his old blade, too blunt for battle but apparently still serviceable as woodaxe.
"Hmmm, this will be well worth the effort. Though, I am confused, why destroy the door…? You have firewood…."
"Not the right type." Fenris responded, his words rushed and curt.
Sebastian had seen the way Fenris had tensed before answering, and rather than fixate on the way he had delivered his reply, tried to figure out the cause. He saw just how much wood had been required, and true, the usual logs Fenris used in his fireplace would have probably not fit down the narrow shafts that seemed to run under the bath. Then, the thought occurred that without the door to the bathroom there would be opportunity to watch someone as they bathed. It was exactly the sort of thing he would have done in his youth, and the possibility of Fenris doing such a thing sent a not unpleasant shiver through him.
In a bid to calm himself, he reasoned that the bath looked like it had not been used for a while, and that Fenris probably did not have a ready stock of suitable wood. That to save carting fuel for the fire too great a distance, he had decided to use the nearest available source, that being the door to the washroom.
When Sebastian lifted his head to look at Fenris, a not entirely innocent smile playing across his lips, he saw that Fenris's expression was grim.
"Fenris…?" His humour fled, immediately replaced with a tightness in his brow and chest. The elf shook his head, and turned towards the door.
"It is nothing. The water will be warm soon, enjoy your bath."
Sebastian was on his feet faster than his healing ribs would have liked, and following Fenris as the elf took up a quick pace from the washroom. Without thinking, he reached out to catch him by the elbow, and Fenris jerked his arm away angrily.
"Fool! Do you not learn? Do not touch me, it is too dangerous."
There had been no flicker of blue, and at least Fenris had spun round and stopped walking away to berate him, both of which made him grateful. The outburst baffled him though, and he wondered if the bathroom held too many unpleasant memories of Danarius.
Then, too late, he realised that through all Fenris had said, he never indicated that he intended to use the bath, that all the efforts had been for Sebastian alone.
"You… do not wish to bathe…?"
"No."
Sebastian sighed, the pain in his chest sapping his patience. "Speak your mind, else I can not know what is wrong…."
"I do not deserve it."
He had been expecting to be told that Fenris had been forced to watch Danarius soak, but had not been permitted himself to allow the heated waters to ease his own muscles, or perhaps that Fenris was trying too hard to be a good host, and not intrude on his guest's comfort. Fenris's statement however, took him aback, and he found himself lost for words.
Finally, hands out in front of him, opening and closing in a poor replacement for speech, he gestured to the chairs, partly to give himself a few seconds to work out what to say, partly because it would be much harder for Fenris to walk away when seated. He was near certain that chasing the elf about the mansion would do his healing chest any good.
Fenris sat, hunched, and casting his eyes about, probably seeking a wine bottle to mask his obvious discomfort at announcing such a bare statement. Sebastian sat carefully, hands relaxed, everything in his posture striving to seem as understanding as possible.
"What makes you say that?" He fought to keep his voice calm, collected, though in truth he was angry at himself for missing that Fenris was so distraught. The lull of a hot bath had addled his senses it seemed, and though he had set out to cater for Fenris this evening, he appeared to be making a poor job of it.
"I… I angered Hawke today."
Sebastian thought on this, then opened his hands out in front of his chest. "There were exceptional circumstances…."
"It does not excuse my actions."
"Then what about Hawke? It is not right to threaten death upon those you would call a friend, no matter the situation." Sebastian took a breath, and offered a small smile. "Do you not think that Hawke was out of sorts himself?"
"Perhaps…." There it was, that glimmer of a shift of perception in Fenris's face that Sebastian had been hoping for.
"Everyone has bad days, even the Kirkwall champion."
Fenris fell quiet, and seemed to contemplate the ground under his toes, curling them against the floor. He gave a sigh, then glanced up at Sebastian.
"I have not ever seen him so angry. What… what ought I do to make amends?"
The archer clicked his tongue, suddenly uncertain. Maker knew Hawke was forever insulting those he spoke to, then using his wealth to cover up whatever crude comment he'd made, but that was hardly something he wished to encourage Fenris to imitate.
"Perhaps you could offer an apology to Anders…?" he suggested, carefully, tentatively, knowing that what had started out as a simple distrust and dislike had over time crystalized into a bitter animosity between Fenris and the healer.
"I was afraid you might say that." Fenris gave a little snort, not quite a laugh, but close enough Sebastian started to relax. The elf continued: "It would not go well, he brings out the worst of me. I have tried, for sake of Hawke and working together, to ignore him, but he is stubborn, and insistent, and forever voicing his views at every given opportunity."
It was hard to keep the small tickle of a smile spreading across his face, as Sebastian thought Anders might make a very similar statement if asked about Fenris. He gave a sincere nod to cover his mirth.
"A letter then. I could help you pen a letter of apology, that you could deliver and not have to address Anders directly. You could even give it to Hawke to pass on to Anders, and let him see that you are trying to rectify the situation."
It felt odd that Sebastian saw that somehow appeasing Hawke seemed almost as vital as making amends with Anders, but Hawke was much more dangerous. While he at times acted against the law, or common sense, he held their small group of friends together through his sheer confidence, and the archer knew that without Hawke, Fenris would find himself isolated.
"I would not know what to write…." The hesitation was not an outright refusal, and Sebastian took this for a good sign. He could easily see that any attempt Fenris made to say sorry to the healer face to face could result in yet another shouting match between the two, and only make matters worse. A letter seemed an elegant solution, and while he knew that Fenris would not be versed in the proper way to write a formal apology, it might actually seem more honest and heartfelt if it were the elf's own words upon the parchment, rather than the standard and stagnant phrases of remorse other people might write.
"Just say what you feel, what you want to convey. I have parchment, and quills and ink in my quiver, let me go fetch them."
By the time he had retrieved the items, Fenris had not moved from his seat, thankfully. Sebastian set down the writing equipment upon the side table, shifting an empty bottle out the way to grant him better space. He was glad to see that the wax stopper upon his bottle of ink had held, and that the contents had not dried out, and was reminded how long it had been since he had had cause to write anything. In fact, the last piece of parchment he had applied ink and words to, was the chantry-board request to bring his family's murderers to justice. It seemed right that he was now using his quill to bring peace, rather than Hawke's brand of bloody vengeance.
Sebastian was aware of the bath, slowly heating in the washroom, but on account of the sheer volume of water felt that they did not have to hurry. Bending, (and Maker did his ribs protest the movement) he drew a dagger from his boot, and started to chip the wax from the cork of the bottle.
"You usually write the name of the person you are addressing at the top of the letter. For example, 'Dear Anders,'…." Sebastian paused, realising that Fenris would likely rather chew glass than called the healer 'dear'.
"Or perhaps, 'To Anders,' or simply, 'Anders,' might suffice. What do you think?"
"Anders…." The word sounded foreign on Fenris's tongue, forced, and Sebastian could recall how Fenris usually addressed Anders as 'mage'. Perhaps here was a chance to break that particular habit, in the interest of soothing things between the elf and the mage.
"A good start. Though I wish we knew Anders's real name, it is always more polite to use names, and is generally received better." Less subtle than he would have liked, but given that he was worn down, and aching deep in his chest, he did not berate himself too harshly.
"Then… something like… 'I am very sorry for crushing your arm.'" Fenris, whilst his expression showed he was not enjoying the task, did seem to be making an effort. It was reassuring, if not the most eloquent of phrasing. It put Sebastian of a mind when a sibling would be called in by an angered parent and forced to speak words of apology that they did not really mean.
"Hmmm," Sebastian touched the tip of the quill to the ink pot, and started to write the letter, but paused purposefully, "perhaps… it might be best not to remind him of the specifics of what happened…? It might only bring up the memories, and make him less receptive to your apology. You could say, 'sorry for the incident in the Darktown sewers…'?"
Fenris crossed his arms, frowning in concentration. "I am very sorry for what occurred in the Darktown sewers. He was... sorry. You… were not to blame, and did not deserve such treatment. I apologise that I let my anger get the better of me, when you were only trying to heal Sebastian…. I … I am grateful for your healing abilities, and should not have interrupted. In future I will better trust in your expertise in healing magics …" he looked up to Sebastian, who was hastily scribbling down the words, intending to write them again in a more legible script later.
"That is good, really." Sebastian was surprised at how easily Fenris seemed able to put together an apology. It may have been a little stilted, and overly formal, but it held similar form to his normal speech patterns, and that would lend itself well to seeming sincere and genuine.
"Is there more that has to be said?" Fenris seemed relieved that it was over, and Sebastian thought he saw the elf sit up a little straighter, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
Then there was the issue of signing a name to the letter. Sebastian finished jotting down Fenris's words, so as not to forget them, then resting his head in a hand, lay his quill down.
"Just your name. You can use a cross to make your mark, or perhaps an 'F'. If you like, I can write out F and you can try to copy the shapes the letter makes."
"Then I shall do that."
The archer passed over parchment with 'F' written large for Fenris to start with, then smaller so it would fit at the bottom of a letter. He showed Fenris how to dip the quill so that there was not so much ink as to drown the paper, and how to hold the thin shaft between his fingers. The spare quill was a little more frayed at the tip, but given the awkward way that Fenris pushed at the paper, as if trying to carve the name into the pulped wood, it would have made no difference to provide a better quill.
Sebastian gave a bright smile as Fenris made his efforts, and set out a piece of paper for himself to start on the final copy. By the time he was finished, Fenris was able to reproduce the first letter of his name, his lines more confident and a faint smile at his achievement dancing around his lips. The letter was finished, and signed, and then set aside for the ink to dry.
"Now, I think that the bath should be ready. We ought to go and enjoy it while the water is warm."
Perhaps not normally the most chaste nor innocent of suggestions, but Sebastian did not want to leave Fenris alone, not when his mood was so volatile, and so much progress had been made. He deliberately used a tone that left no room for Fenris to refuse, as if it were a given that they would share a bath, and there it would be unthinkable to do elsewise.
"The bath…." Fenris raised a brow, his tone not quite questioning his vows and how they would fit with the act of bathing together, as if he didn't want to remind Sebastian. The archer gave a shrug, trying not to think on his vows, and that he intended tonight to be the last of his experiments in the technicalities of his oaths.
"The water will only stay warm for so long, and it seems a waste not to both enjoy a bath. The tub is certainly large enough for two. You can even bring a bottle of wine and glasses, and we shall truly indulge."
Fenris, it seemed, needed little other encouragement, and gathered the wine and glasses, and started towards the washroom, which had started to steam gently as the fires burning beneath the marble transferred their heat to the stone and water. Sebastian brought with him two of the night robes Fenris had to hand, as well as the discarded bucket from the wine tasting to use for rinsing. He dipped it into the clean, warm water, before they sullied it with the remnants of Darktown clinging to their skin, and set it within easy reach. He considered briefly looking to see if Danarius had left any soap, or oils, but the idea of smelling like Fenris's dead master seemed a poor plan. He did however find a little bar of lye soap, the stinging acrid type, that smelled of an alchemist's laundry. It might not be the most pleasant smelling of items, but it would scrub the filth from them well, and guarantee that they did not carry the stink of Darktown with him once they were finished in the bath. He placed the soft lump at the edge of the bath, avoiding the puddles of escaped water that would reduce it to a soapy sludge. He did not intend to use it at first though, instead let simple water and heat clean what it could from his body, before subjecting his skin to the sting of the lye. Not to mention, with nothing to mar the water, he would be better able to admire Fenris's form.
He stripped from his clothes, quickly, to distract himself from such thoughts, which were not helping the small nag at the back of his mind that this would have to be the last time, that he ought not to let himself get too carried away. He took Fenris's old sword, figuring that after being used as a wood axe, and then a striking surface, that Fenris was not too attached to the blade. He pulled the flat of the sword through the water, stirring the bath, making sure the heated water by the marble and the cold water too far to benefit from the heat of the fire mixed. Upon testing the water, Sebastian found that though it was a little cool still, the inlaid seats and marble were almost perfect. He slipped into the water, glad he had not filled it too full, as it meant they would be able to add cold water should the fires heat the water too much.
Fenris, was still peeling his leather armour from him, as Sebastian steadied himself, and dipped into the water. He found the ledge running around the side of the bath to be a good height for seating comfortable, with enough room to stretch his legs.
The hot marble as his back, especially at the tender flesh of the healing ribs, was blissful. Sebastian did not let his eyes droop closed, instead deciding to check over his aching side to survey the damage. There was the paleness of scar tissue stretched tight over the dragon claw marks, and a fresh knot of skin in a line where the dagger had dug deep, but he knew these would fade in time. He was somewhat surprised that the wounds looked much less severe than the ache would have had him believe, and was quietly grateful that the sight might reassure Fenris, who he caught casting a worried glance over his chest.
"He did a good job…" Sebastian said quietly to himself, and knew that to be an understatement. He was confident that without Anders, he would have perished from his injuries, from both dragon, and the again from carta assassins. It felt strange, that if he had handed Anders over to the Templar as the chantry rule dictated, he would have died as a result. An uncomfortable thought, and one that had been bothering him.
The sight of Fenris, casting off the last of his armour into a corner and then looking to Sebastian for permission, banished all thoughts of the chantry, and Anders, from his mind. He had seen before, but the way that lyrium curled over skin, and arms and legs held strong and steady still stole his breath. Sebastian could only nod, and try not to stare as Fenris gracefully stepped into the bathwater.
Sebastian reached to pour a glass of wine, as Fenris settled into the water opposite him. He took the offered glass, and drank, then licked his lips, trying to will words to fill the silence, which had started to feel awkward.
"I.. I can see the appeal now. Of a bath I mean… it always seemed much too much hassle for simply getting clean, but this… this is pleasant."
Sebastian nodded sagely, and then, knowing fine well that it was a poor plan, poured himself a glass of wine.
"Like massage, the heat can help ease worn muscles."
Fenris stretched, and the archer was aware of a foot brush against his shin. Fenris hastily pulled backwards, with a little splash of panic, and Sebastian motioned that there was no cause for such alarm.
"Easy, it is all right. We are bathing together, and though this is a magnificent tub, it is only expected that we shall come into contact on the odd occasion."
Fenris, thankfully, did not look too horrified at the thought, and Sebastian felt a hot tickle down his nerves at the prospect of touch, however light and fleeting. Sebastian crossed his arms, and looked at Fenris thoughtfully.
He sat without trying to hide himself, seemingly perfectly at ease with his body. Though marked all over with lyrium, he wore his true scars beneath his skin, Danarius's festered hold lingering from beyond the grave. It saddened Sebastian to think that the elf still suffered his past, and though it seemed to be improving, Fenris's difficulties with touch were notable. Only half intentionally, reached with his own foot under guise of a shift of position, to stroke against Fenris's calf. Fenris gave him a curious gaze, and no more.
It would be too easy to repeat the gesture, blue eyes locked with green, and see how Fenris might react, whether he would shy from the touch or embrace it. The temptation was there, Sebastian could not deny it any more than he could resist the warmth from the heated stone at his back.
He turned his head, biting down on the urge, trying not to watch how the ripples of water made Fenris's lyrium tattoos seems to dance, trying not to think of how he would love to chase them with his fingertips, tracing the curves and curls, up his legs, down his chest… too late he realised he was wondering what it would felt like to run a hand over the flesh between Fenris's legs, rubbing the shaft till it hardened, feeling the blood pulse under his hands.
Sebastian felt sure his cheeks must have been blushing at such thoughts, so he dipped his hands into the water, cupped some of the liquid and splashed his face. It felt good, cleansing, and he repeated the act, water dripped from his eyebrows, his skin refreshed. When he wiped his eyes, he saw Fenris looking at him… no, staring.
He saw the way the elf's hands curled, the shift of his legs below the water's surface, his whole body shifting minutely with each breath. He was lean, every muscle toned and his movements flowing and controlled. His skin, a darker tone than Sebastian's, flushed slightly with the heat of the water, and Sebastian watched as Fenris moved, letting the water move against him. Then, carefully, Fenris shuffled round the edge of the ledge, closer.
Green eyes were fixed upon his, watching for disapproval or alarm. Sebastian did not miss how wide they were with fear. Those eyes had him trapped, and he felt that if he could only escape their intense gaze, he might be able to collect himself and not think about disregarding his vows entirely, that he might be able to respect Fenris's issues with touch, and not press against him, whether he was willing or not. It would be easy to stand, then with a hand placed either side of his shoulders, pin the elf between the stone and his own body. Those last fleeting thoughts, small, wicked things, that quietly whispered that Fenris did not have to consent, that he might like it if Sebastian simply took what he wanted, scared Sebastian. He had never desired someone so much that he would be willing to force himself upon them, and the thought of pushing Fenris to acts he did not wish made him felt sick, but that did not stop the little whispers.
Sebastian wiped his eyes again, searching for a polite way to regain the distance, the only thing keeping his desires in check, keeping Fenris safe from the prince. Finally, he gave a smile, which felt weak on his lips.
"Your hair… it is a shame not to see it at its palest. Will you let me wash it?"
Fenris looked disappointed, but nodded, and Sebastian turned to gather the soap up, rubbing it feverishly between his hands, as if the suds might purify his own mind.
"Turn round, and close your eyes. You'll not want to get soap in them."
Fenris complied, trusting, more fool him. Breathing deep and slow, Sebastian carefully moved to start rubbing the foam into the hair, relieved to not have Fenris look at him, as if the elf might see into his mind and witness the terrible thoughts that lurked there.
Mud and grime bleached from the soft strands, and the suds turned grey as the hair reclaimed its natural brilliant white. Fingertips rubbed against Fenris's scalp, and the elf made a pleased murmur, encouraging Sebastian to make good of the task. The small circles he made into damp hair and lather calmed him, and the way that Fenris leaned into his hands seemed natural, normal. He began to map out the curve of Fenris's head, fingers sliding against scalp, moving down to the nape of the neck.
He felt the tension as he touched upon the sensitive skin of the back of the neck, and then again as he moved behind ears, but Fenris did not call for him to stop. Soon, he was able to sweep his hand cover the entire head without so much as a twitch, and he was just about to start applying more pressure, more like a massage, when he felt his fingers start to tingle.
It was the soap, and to be expected from the lye, but it reminded Sebastian too much of his dream, where his hands had burned away after giving Fenris a massage. He drew his hands back, and rinsed them in the water, but the bite of lye and memory of the pain of his dream remained. He swallowed, hard, and moved from Fenris, settled at the other end of the bath, feigning that he was positioning himself closer to his wineglass.
Fenris, eyes still shut, tilted his head at feeling the prince retreat, and after appearing to listen for a moment, pinched his nose and dunked himself under the water. When he broke the surface, his hair was plastered onto his head, but clean, and he used a hand to push the strands from his face.
Odd, to see Fenris without his usual fringe hiding him, moreso to see his eyes, soft, content, and Maker damn him, entirely too enticing. Rivulets of water cascaded down his back, the droplets tracing the lines of the lyrium, as if taunting Sebastian to do the same. His hands itched, as if to warn him against such temptation. Sebastian drank from his glass, willing the wine to provide words to fill his mouth, which felt dry.
"Thank you." Fenris said, indicating his hair, and reached for his own glass, watching Sebastian, as if trying to fathom why the archer was so quiet.
Caught again in the green gaze, Sebastian felt uncomfortable. He could see that Fenris was waiting for instruction, or even some form of clue as to how to act in the situation, and Sebastian, through his silence and failure to guide, was not helping. Fenris was inexperienced, and it would be so very easy to lie and declare that the normal protocol was to wash each other's backs, and more…. The idea of Fenris touching him, shy hands, but strong, definitely gave the deception merit, and Sebastian had to fight to keep his mouth shut, lest lies pour out of it.
The air grew thick, both with the increasing steam from the bathwater, and the growing discomfort and unease between the two men.
He was a poor teacher, and a poorer friend, he thought, as he looked away from Fenris's face, and down the sleek contours of the elf's body. As he took it the clean, exposed skin, he felt the blood rush southwards, and then also to his cheeks as he realised the water would not veil his half-stiff erection. Before Fenris could try to react, and only make the terrible temptation worse, Sebastian decided he had best get out of the water.
He clambered out, turning to hide his front, and then used clean water from the bucket which was only a little bit too cool, and in that quite welcome, to drench over himself, leaving half behind for Fenris.
"You fear me." Fenris stated, taking Sebastian's sudden departure to be his doing, his fault. Sebastian gave an inward groan that in his haste to remove himself from the situation, he had added to Fenris's already sizeable self-doubt. As he pulled a robe over himself, he could not bring himself to confess his lust-driven thoughts, too dark to admit to. Instead he softened his face, silently willing his cock to follow suit.
"No… why would you think such a thing?"
"I am dangerous still, even to those who I ought to call my allies. Today, I showed it. I may not have any love for the mage, but he did not earn such wrath. Hawke had to hold a dagger to my face to stop me… and even then, part of me did not want to stop till I had broken a bone. I destroy things. Doors, trust... people… You'd be a fool not to fear such as me."
Sebastian remembered asking why Fenris had 'destroyed' the door, and the way his shoulders had tensed in response. It all started to become clear, and Fenris was still struggling with his anger, and frustration that sometimes he could not contain himself. No small wonder then, that he figured those around him to be afraid, as he was frightened of himself.
"I am not in the habit of bathing with people I distrust, much less fear." Finding as dry a patch of stone by the bath as he could, Sebastian sat and reached a hand down to Fenris to help him out, that they might speak face to face, without Sebastian having to look down, and more importantly, having Fenris clothed to allow Sebastian to talk without the distraction of the flesh.
Fenris did not take his hand, and tipped his head to the side. "You are not bathing with me anymore." He said quietly. "Am I to take that as sign you have realised my nature?"
Sebastian could not help but give an exasperated sigh. "And what exactly is your nature?"
"A living weapon. Nothing more."
There was just a hint of Danaruis's voice in the words, that led Sebastian to believe that this was a phrase used often by the dead magister, so much so that Fenris could not speak the words without echoing the cruel master's tone.
Against his better judgement, Sebastian reached further with his hand. His ribs disliked the stretch, but of more import that their comfort was stopping Fenris from dwelling on this particularly poisonous notion.
Eventually, hesitantly, as if he expected Sebastian to slacken his arm suddenly and cause him to stumble or withdraw his hand at the last moment, Fenris placed his slender palm against Sebastian's. With a heave that he knew he'd feel the next day in his chest, Sebastian pulled Fenris from the water.
"You do yourself a great disservice. You are so much more."
He looked over the dripping elf, dusky skin in the faint light holding an eerily paleness along the lines of lyrium. His limbs bunched in a coiling tightness, like an animal, cornered, sizing up whether it would be better to flee or fight.
And yet, even so tense, his face a mask of sceptical scorn, he was heart-achingly handsome. Sebastian let a natural smile at the sight of Fenris touch his face.
"If only you could see what I do…"
It was a weak dismissive cough that followed, and Sebastian would have had to be blind to miss the way Fenris's eyes darted to him, assessing whether it was a sincere statement. Either unable to tell that Sebastian was indeed half a breath from sighing like a simpering maiden at Fenris standing naked and exposed to his core, or unwilling to believe that he might have such an effect, Fenris fell back to his defensive habit, all hard eyes and hint of a sneer on his lips. Sebastian, who had been expecting this, did not react, and continued.
"I see strength, beyond just muscle. That you will stand and face that which unnerves you is something I've always admired. That you seek to better yourself, that you will admit your mistakes and apologise for them. You have a will of your own, and have had to fight for the privilege harder than most, and so appreciate it all the more."
He knew at once he'd picked his words poorly, as Fenris's mouth drew into a thin line and his eyes narrowed.
"Will? Hmph. Would that I could control myself, I may be able to admit that I did indeed have my own will. So far though, I have been doing little more than waiting for Daranius to return. If I truly have a will, I would not have put myself at such risk of losing it again."
Confused, unsure of what he ought to say, Sebastian offered a robe to Fenris, lest he catch chill, hoping the practical gesture might hide his loss for words. The elf draped it over his shoulders, both of which seemed to slump under the weight of the flimsy fabric.
"I do not understand…" Sebastian said.
Fenris gave a sigh, soft and sad.
"I spent the last five years waiting for Danarius, dispatching his mercenaries, waiting for the man himself to make an appearance. Danarius was powerful, and I confess, I did not hold out much hope of succeeding when we battled. This, I did not say, to Hawke, to you, to any of those who would be at risk should the magiester make a move against me.
"I could have run further, rather than stay and make myself an easy target, in his own mansion no less. I could have hidden myself better, worn armour to cover the lyrium, or done any of a multitude of things to better secure the freedom I had won for myself. But I did not, I simply sat, and waited for Danarius to claim me back. I did not, could not, make any attempt to surrender, but neither did I try to safeguard myself. "
Fenris drew his arms to his chest, fingers clutching at the rode. "Part of me wanted Danarius to bring me back… Beat me down and take me by force, so that I could pretend that I did not want it, that I had at least fought to retain my freedom... but in truth, part of me wanted to go back, to follow his orders and be his blade. To be the weapon he made me…" Everything in his voice spoke of the misery he felt, at voicing that even though he hated Danarius, and slavery, there was something of a lure in bowing his head and submitting to another.
Sebastian could well understand. It was similar to the path he sought by following the chantry, as much as slavery could be compared to voluntary servitude to the Maker. It was part of the reason he was going back to the safe stone walls of the chantry, and the written rules to be obeyed. Leaving the difficult decisions of his life to someone else, so that he could not regret nor err, that someone else bore all the responsibility for his every action.
"It is not always easy, having freedom to do what you wish…" he was speaking carefully now, scared at what he might let slip, that Fenris might think less of him if he knew Sebastian was not willing to fight as Fenris had. That he was taking the easy route, and that it would remove him from Fenris's company.
"But…" Sebastian continued, trying to sound convincing, "It is a gift to be able to follow your own path, to work for your own goals. To know what you want, and be able to work for it."
"But I cannot have what I want…" Fenris was looking directly at Sebastian as he spoke, then opened his mouth in a gasp, cheeks colouring quickly, as if shocked at his own words "Forgive me, I did not mean to say such things."
Sebastian's breath caught in his throat, and he felt he might choke on it. There could be no mistaking that look, however fleeting, those green eyes betraying the pure, want and need. He didn't want to say love, couldn't bring himself to even think the word, bit there was no denying that Fenris was looking upon him with adoration. The prince took a step back, and the spell was broken, Fenris's eyes turned downwards, the blush fading from his face.
"I… I need to go and fetch something. Use the bucket of clean water to rinse, and meet me in the living room, where the fire shall soon dry you. "
Sebastian left, not trusting himself to look back, to watch as the elf tipped the water over his naked body, or worse, look at him with those on-the-edge of glistening eyes.
Many a noblewoman and whore alike had confessed her love to him, in verse that was plain or poetic, blunt or elegant, but all sharing a statement of wanting to be with him. Sebastian figured that most fancied the idea of being a princess far more than they desired himself, but some had sounded suspiciously sincere. A man too, had once declared his feelings, voice trembling with the emotion of the moment. Sebastian had politely refused them all, brushing off their admissions, usually taking it as a sign to move on to the next conquest.
He had seen tears, and on one memorable occasion had had to duck to avoid a thrown vase, but all the while had felt no guilt noir remorse that he had not returned their feelings, that he had led them to hold the relation in higher regard than he. He had always made clear that when he went to bed, it was lust that moved him and his hips, but some people would not pay proper heed to his warnings not to treat the tumbles and midnight meetings as more than they were.
He was not so self-centred not to realise the hurt he had caused, albeit inadvertently. Sebastian had always civil afterwards, and tried to remain warm to those who had succumbed to his bright blue eyes and high-born blood. Warm, but not intimate, not once the poisonous words had been said.
Never before had he wanted that look of love to linger, to embrace and nurture it. To share it.
He leant against a wall heavily, not minding the cobwebs that stuck to his hair. It was too much, and he did not know to how respond.
The best thing, so that he could return to the chantry and pledge himself anew to the service without any loose ends, would be to refuse Fenris, politely, but firmly, as he had done so many times before. Fenris would be upset, hurt, and probably angry, but that was not what held Sebastian back from starting to formulate a reply, no, he just could not bring himself to break the trust and friendship that had formed between them, no matter how much easier it would make things in the long run.
Neither could he acknowledge and reciprocate though, his vows, his plans to return to the chantry prevented such.
He could, however, pretend he had not caught the look, and had missed the meaning. Fenris had been vague enough that the idea merited consideration, and the more Sebastian thought of it, the more he was inclined to simply more on, and not raise the issue again.
There was the niggling guilt at not granting Fenris closure on the topic, but Sebastian was practiced at not letting his feelings show. He did require a distraction though, to prevent Fenris from trying to clarify, or give explanation and ruin his ruse.
What had they been speaking about…? Danarius, no, that would not ease matters, but before that Fenris had been comparing himself to a weapon, and seemed loath to move from the metaphor.
The silver tongued Sebastian of his youth, who had been able to flatter a hardened whore, and charm his father's guards to look the other way as he slipped from his bedchambers, emerged. With quick wits and just a hint of devious cunning, Sebastian started to piece together a plan.
When Sebastian walked in, he could see the delay had made Fenris nervous. In short, quick steps, the elf paced back and forth in front of a now lit fire, casting long shaky shadows across the room. He looked up the moment he saw Sebastian approach, his foot faltering in its path. He collected himself hurriedly and stood, wearing the almost white cotton robe, but his movements having loosened the tie. It hung from him, his shoulder and chest exposed, skin clean and for the most part, dry.
Fenris was about to ask a question, or perhaps offer apology of a non-existent error, but before he could part his lips to speak, his eyes were drawn to the item Sebastian held. An arrow, freshly plucked from his quiver, with a dark grey tuff of feathers to make the flight. Sebastian himself had carved the grooves to insert the feathers he'd found on his many journeys around the wounded coast, the thick and sturdy quills of seabirds ideal for his weapons.
The prince had taken a piece of soft leather, that he usually used for buffing his armour, and wrapped it around the head of the arrow, to prevent the bite of rough metal cut into his hand. He'd seen finer smithed arrowheads, but the number of monsters he'd faced while out with Hawke who did not seem to appreciate the fine craftsmanship led him to choose quantity over quality.
"A weapon." He announced, the arrow settled in his open palms, presented towards Fenris. "Capable of felling an enemy, of causing great hurt. But… when held a different way…" Sebastian curled his fingers round the tip of the arrow, and extended his arm, letting the feathers of the end brush against Fenris's shoulder, taking care to touch where the robe covered, rather than directly onto the skin.
Fenris turned his head to watch, his stance only slightly poised for battle.
"Today I saw you use a sword to make firewood, then strike against the blade to ignite tinder. A weapon can be many things, not all of them destructive."
Fenris had not moved, and though he wore the robe, he would still have been able to feel the feather's touch upon him. Boldened, Sebastian let the feather make contact against skin, and as softly as he was able, stroked Fenris's cheek. Fenris's eyes drooped a little, and he tipped his head into feathers, ever-so slightly.
"It is the one who wields the weapon that decides how it is used, whether to defend or attack, whether to hurt, or protect. No-one has power over you Fenris, no-one but yourself."
Sebastian lowered the arrow, bringing it back to himself and laying it across both his palms again. He gave the arrow a tap again his palm, and smiled.
"But enough of that…" He gave a smile, that he knew was too much like a grin, but he could not help himself, knowing what he had in store for the elf, "I may not be permitted to touch you, but this can. I could brush you all over with the feathers, till your skin sings. Or…" he brought the arrow up and down again sharply, letting it crack against the flat of his hand. He grinned openly, as Fenris's green eyes regained their focus after a moment of wide-eyed dilation, looking the object in his hands rather than at him.
"Does it please you?" he asked, dropping his voice to a low purr.
Fenris gave a nod, eyes locked upon the smooth wood and feathered flight. Sebastian felt a great relief surge through him. He had thought that the idea might have appealed to Fenris, the elf having such a strong reaction to the pervious caning. He had even compared it to a release, and after the events of the day, such an outlet was surely needed.
It had, thought Sebastian would not admit it to Fenris, the added bonus of being something Sebastian did not find particularly appealing. Certainly, he could take pride in working the arrow to Fenris's need, but that actual act of bringing the arrow down upon skin held neither joy, but also no distaste. That he would not lose himself in the task, would grant him strength to hold himself back, as well as making sure that Fenris was left satisfied.
After checking Fenris's eyes, and expression a third time to make sure that there was no trace of fear, or doubt, Sebastian straightened, and tapped the arrow, watching how Fenris's eyes followed the bolt.
"Then tell me…. How ought I to wield this arrow?"
He could see the breath gather in Fenris's chest before the elf let it past his lips, ribcage swelling beneath the robe. With a glint that Sebastian was fast appreciating often heralded Fenris's more indulgent nature, the elf brought his hands up to the edge of the robes, toying with the fabric held loosely in his fingers.
"I thought it was the one who holds the weapon that gets to decide…."
Both Sebastian's eyebrows rose as the robe was dropped, Fenris gracefully stepping from the discarded clothe. His eyes were intense, and Sebastian froze in the sights, something in the elf's stare hinting that Fenris was not done yet, even though Sebastian was already finding the act of drawing breath to be difficult.
Fenris raised both hands and laced his fingers behind his head. His feet firmly planted against the ground, every muscle taunt and ready. Fenris adopted the stance easily, as if it were a position well practiced. Still, there was nothing of the slave here, Sebastian noted, Fenris's pose proud, head held high and eyes unafraid to look upon the archer.
A smile ghosted across his lips, and he said, a small quaver of excitement in his voice: "I trust you."
When he then closed his eyes, Sebastian felt his heart miss a beat, shocked into stillness at the gesture. So simple a thing, but coming from Fenris, who had had to learn distrust and vigilance as a way of life…
Sebastian was sure that he'd never stop admiring the strength of the elf, and decided that till the sun rose, he'd try to be worthy of that trust.
He circled round, letting his footfalls sound to allow Fenris to track his position, and touched the feathered end of the arrow lightly down the line of his forearm, the muscle over bone curving pleasantly.
Nothing so drastic as a flinch or jolt, but there was a definite twitch as the feathered flight drifted across Fenris's skin. Sebastian wondered if the sensation was pleasant for him, knowing that the elf struggled with touch, and watched for any sign that the experience was painful, or enjoyable.
If anything, Fenris seemed inpatient, waiting for the crack of the shaft of the arrow against him.
Hard to resist the way Fenris panted in anticipation, but harder still to know that as soon as he started, it would herald the end of this final session. Sebastian was loath to set aside the feathered end and move on to the hard rod of the arrow, just yet.
He used the tips of the quills to caress an arm, then sweep down against the row of knuckles of his hands, Sebastian behind him and able to fully admire the form, gaze lingering on the roundness of his rear. Feather followed his eyes, brushing down the spine, experimentally touching upon the lyrium tattoos that were buried into his skin.
He noticed, that though Fenris did not outwardly react to the feathers save for the wash of goosebumps across his flesh, his lyrium seemed on the cusp of a faint glow. Not as strong a flickering candle, but more like the edge of a magical blade, a shimmer of light that let you know the metal was enchanted. Sebastian tried to catch himself, before he directly compared Fenris to a weapon, powerful, but dangerous, and was glad of Fenris's closed eyes that the elf could not see the uncertainty blanch his face as the metaphor settled in his mind.
He did not believe Fenris to be nothing more than a living weapon, as he had claimed, but he could not deny that there were some definite similarities between Fenris and the hefty two-handed sword he wielded. Both were strong, and unyielding, Fenris's viewpoints held rigid and frim, at times to his detriment.
No sword, though, ever looked so beautiful, so tempting to run fingers over the surface, feel the strength contained within.
Sebastian swallowed hard enough to hurt his throat, as he used the feathered tip to touch where he could not, technically not breaking his vows but all the same taking part in something imitate, and erotic.
"I should think I'll not see my arrows in the same light again… not after seeing the way they dance over your skin Fenris, the way they glide so smooth over your naked body."
A surprised little noise escaped Fenris's lips, as the arrow traced further down, past the small of the back and over his ass. Sebastian manipulated the arrow like a pen, drawing intricate circles and lines, as he is was marking Fenris with a new set of tattoos, these ones gentle and soft, and a secret between the two of them.
Under the kiss of the arrow, Fenris's skin was starting to shiver. Concerned that the elf stood to catch a chill from being naked with only the fire as a heat source, Sebastian paused, and looked round to glance at Fenris's face.
"You are shivering, are you cold?"
Pale hair flicked outwards as Fenris shook his head, eyes still closed. "No. It is what you do to me…"
"Hmmm." Sebastian was pleased at the statement, and with a swift movement, brought the arrow from the base of the spine upwards. Fenris swayed slightly on his feet, and his breathing becoming fragmented, just for a moment.
"Ah rather like that Ah can have such an effect on you… "He forced his accent, to veil the fact that as if guilty, his own manhood was refusing to be moved by the sight of the elf, naked and flexing with every stroke and caress. Irritating, but understandable given the dark mood that had plagued him all evening, and the archer decided that things would progress smoother if Fenris was not aware of his lack of arousal.
He looked over and saw that Fenris was reacting, and was satisfied in this. Sebastian was then struck by a wicked notion; "Are yeh ticklish?"
Fenris pursed his lips together before replying. "I... I do not know."
Glee at being able to explore new territory filled Sebastian, and he had to check himself, remembering that this was for Fenris, and not to rush headlong without ensuring Fenris was comfortable in what he did.
"Then let us find out…"
When Fenris made no motion to move away, nor speak out against the idea, Sebastian very carefully ran the feathered tuff up the side of Fenris's ribs, stopping short of the more sensitive area under the arms till he could gage whether Fenris was enjoying the touch or not.
A twitch upwards of the thin lips at the corner of his mouth, usually so controlled against revealing his thoughts, reassured Sebastian. With a deliberate pause, so that Fenris would not be able to tell where the next touch would land, Sebastian jiggled the edge of the arrow against Fenris's opposite underarm.
The bark of a laugh surprised them both, and Sebastian broke into a wide smile as Fenris's brow over his still shut eyes lifted.
"It would seem yeh are… How interestin'…."
He worked then, on breaching Fenris's tight-lipped defences, watching how the elf found it increasingly hard to keep his stance, all but squirming as Sebastian touched there, and there, and there. Shoulders rolled, and his hands clutched together in efforts to stay in position, holding the stance now a challenge when faced with feather against his skin, the touch light and excruciatingly ticklish. Almost breathless with trying to contain himself, Fenris finally let loose a long laugh, that reverberated through his whole body.
When he had caught his breath, and found that Sebastian's feathered assault had ceased, Fenris carefully opened one eye. Sebastian stood to one side, brushing the feathers along his own fingers, and licked his lips, eyeing the elf hungrily.
"Ah think, now, that Ah'd very much like to see yer skin marked up by stripes, red and vivid and many…."
It was a lie, albeit one based on good intentions. His side was paining him, and he feared he'd not be able to keep a brave face on to mask his discomfort indefinitely. Also, he was aware that although Fenris said he wasn't cold, the elf was naked –Maker be praised- in a room with only a newly lit fire to warm the air, and that as pretty as he was wriggling under the feathertip, his skin shone with the thinnest layer of sweat as well as the blue glow of lyrium, and that could easily bring his temperature down sharply.
Sebastian, however, felt too warm, and as Fenris watched him, tied his robe tight around his waist, but slipped his shoulders free of the sleeves. The clothe fell from his back, the cord holding it over his lower half, empty arms of the robes trailing in his wake. Chest bare, and arms free to move, he let Fenris cast green eyes over him, knowing that he had positioned himself to hide the fresh wound, lest it worry Fenris unduly.
Breaths that were harsh, and heavy, betrayed Fenris, and he gathered himself back into position, the tension in his muscles making him thrum with anticipation. He gave Sebastian a final grateful glance, then slid his eyes shut again, ready and waiting for the bite of the arrow against sensitised skin.
He would miss this, Sebastian thought, as he slowly circled his shoulder, preparing his own muscles so they would not join his ribs in aching later. He was using his off hand, in part to ease the strain on his injured side, partly because he knew he'd have less strength and be less likely to hurt Fenris beyond what he wanted. Physically anyway.
He knew that leaving would damage Fenris, but he believed the elf was strong enough to move on once he'd gone. It would be better, in the long run, for Fenris not to be tied to himself, so tied up in vows and obligations he'd make a poor partner for anyone, let alone the white haired warrior, whose lean form and deep eyes could attract any bedfellow he wished. It would be unfair to persist, Fenris too intimate for a chaste relationship, and too tempting besides.
He gave a deep sigh as he drew back the arrow.
Fenris sighed also, as the wood hit upon his skin, but his was one of relief, of a promise fulfilled.
The skin coloured quickly, the line at an angle across the shoulderblade, the sound still echoing in Sebastian's ears, jarring. He struck again, letting the arrow follow through, the transferred energy causing Fenris to rock upon his feet. The third overlapped one of the pervious, his non-dominant hand lacking the control to properly aim the arrow, and Fenris made a low moan that seemed to fill the room. It was a call of sensation sharp and hot and of rushing blood and pounding heart. The noise drove Sebastian to continue, and he started to flick his wrist at the end of each blow, letting the shaft dig just a little deeper into the flesh.
Each time, he let Fenris recover his footing, and listened closely for any word to cease. Fenris was silent, save for the occasional moan or panted breath, and held his stance, allowing Sebastian to strike wherever he chose.
He looked upon the back before him, symmetrical lyrium marred by angry red lines, and then turned the arrow over, touching feathers to the blazing skin.
"Ah!" Fenris arched from the quills, surprised, then, clicking his teeth together with determination, shifted backwards so that Sebastian could feel Fenris press against the arrowtip. The prince brushed slowly, rhythmically, over the same spot, to allow Fenris to get used to the sensation, and find whether he wanted more or not.
Sebastian took the resulting soft 'Uh' that followed, and the fact that Fenris lent into the feathers rather than writhe away as sign it was permissible to proceed. He brushed and stroked till Fenris shifted on his feet, inpatient, and then brought the arrow down sharply upon his hip, well to the side to avoid his delicate parts, which were flushed with blood and jutting out from his groin urgently.
Then, the feathers again, tracing the welt forming, and Fenris was lost, head rolled back into the cup of his hands, chest heaving to draw breath.
Sebastian alternated stinging strikes with gentle strokes, and soon Fenris was trembling, his cock stiff and his eyes fluttering. When it seemed his legs would surely give out from under him he managed to grind out the words: "Finish it. Please."
When Sebastian continued to map out the red pathways crisscrossing Fenris's back with the tuff of feathers, now damp with sweat, the elf gave a hiss of frustration.
The archer mused over the idea of forsaking his care and control, and using the arrow as he had the cane to bring Fenris to completion, as it seemed to be what Fenris wished. As he raised the arrow above his head, to lay in fast and hard into the elf, he was suddenly put in mind of a memory, long since put aside.
Back a lifetime ago, in Starkhaven castle, there had been a particular dog that Sebastian had grown fond of. She'd been no mabari, but a great wolfish breed, large and shaggy and excellent to have by your side during a hunt. There had been many dogs in the kennels, but this one, fur the colour of Antivan coffee, had a sharp intelligence and a fierce set of jaws, and Sebastian had much preferred her company to the more tame animals, their wits dull as practice blades.
She was not a beast you could pet, nor have sit by your feet in front of a fire, and if she was hungry, she would not relinquish the captured rabbit, hare or pheasant. After a couple of attempts to train her to give up her catch for the hunting basket, Sebastian had been forced to give up and accept her nature.
He'd walk with her, escaping the bowing nobles and cowering servants of the castle grounds, and take pleasure in the open woods, and blissful lack of titles and expectations. The dog, which had no name for one did not name your hunting hounds, would bark when she saw Sebastian approach the kennels, a short noise, more a greeting than an attention seeking measure. Through the walks, and the fact Sebastian would make sure that she always got a fair share of their hunted bounty, she came to respect Sebastian as he her. It became his habit to collect her and go out whenever he could, excusing himself from the drudgery of meetings and elaborate etiquette of court, just him and his companion.
Sometimes, they'd not even try to hunt game, instead journeying out as far as the young Sebastian had dared, touching a freedom he knew was forbidden to him. He'd spent many days out, bow and dog, and content.
One day though, he had been on the way home after a successful hunt, a brace of rabbits and a pair of small fowl at his side, when the dog had placed her paw on a shard of broken clay hidden in the grass by the path, and the sliver had dug deep into the pad of her foot.
She had snarled, and limped, and Sebastian had been unable to get the sharpness out. It had taken hours, and the sky was dark, but Sebastian had managed to coax the dog back to the castle, where he thought hot water and the kennel master's expertise might fare better than his unskilled hands. The animal had suffered, he had seen it in every step, and the pain must had been too much, for when approached by the haggard old kennel master (who had trembled more at the sight of the prince than the dog), she had snapped. It had not been a bad bite, but the man had bled, and Sebastian's father had declared the animal unsafe for a prince.
Sebastian though, stupid and stubborn, had refused to leave the animal behind on his hunts, and through his careless attempts to sneak, been caught with the dog. His father, angered at being defied, had then said that the dog must be destroyed.
Sebastian, guilty that his selfish actions had doomed the animal, had ran, dog chasing his heels. He thought, though to this day was not sure, that the kennel master had led the guard sent after him the wrong direction. Once far out beyond the castle walls, he had tried to get the dog to leave, to go to the forest. She was a good dog, a clever dog and could hunt for herself and would have made a fine hidden defence for the castle against intruders. But she was loyal, too loyal, and could not know that to stay would spell her destruction. In the end, Sebastian had taken his bow, and swatted it solidly against the animal's flank. The dog yipped in pain and surprise, and moving out the way of the blows, confused. She had lingered, hopeful that Sebastian might put away the bow, but the prince had struck out again. Wary now, the dog had circled round, and with a thin sheen of water in his eyes, Sebastian had chased her away, the dog taking to her paws rather than stay for further pain. The prince had returned alone, and had not seen the dog again.
Sebastian had lost his taste for hunting that day, and turned to the city, and the taverns to amuse himself, and therein started his decent into debauchery.
The idea of striking Fenris, whom he too was going to force from him, as a parting gesture, reminded him too much of his last memories of the dog, the animal's wounded eyes searing into his soul.
Steading himself against the painful recollection, Sebastian knelt by the quivering body, heat rolling off gleaming skin and lyrium swirls.
He brought the arrow to his mouth, and with a long sweep on his tongue licked along the shaft of the weapon. He could taste the sweat on the wood, and he was close enough to Fenris's hips that he could smell the elf, all heady musk and lyrium. He could almost pretend he was lapping at flesh, rather than sanded wood, and he was sure Fenris would be able to feel his raspy breaths against his skin. A soft sigh escaped the archer, the scent and experience of being so very close intoxicating, and he was aware of Fenris bending his head to see what he was up to.
Blue eyes met green, and Sebastian made further show of wetting the arrow, his tongue almost laughably lewd as he slicked up and down the length of the arrow, eyes fixed upwards. When he was satisfied that the wood would slide rather than cause friction, he settled himself so his rear rested on his heels, and brushed the feathered tip up Fenris's full cock.
Fenris dropped his hands, and utter a low 'mmmmm' of approval, as Sebastian delicately stroked down and back up again, before grasping the other end in his free hand. He sat before Fenris, and positioned his hands, still holding the arrow, either side of Fenris's groin, and rolled the arrow up the underside of the engorged member.
Fenris's hips shuddered, and Sebastian repeated the gesture, this time applying more pressure, checking to make sure the wood spun smoothly, rather than drag across the darkened sensitive skin.
The effect was… pleasing. Fenris seemed unable to keep his eyes focused, and he struggled to keep his hips still, as Sebastian switched back to the feather tip, tracing the curve of the head, down to the base of the shaft and curling round the root.
The sounds above him turned guttural, needy, and Fenris spasmed and spurted, as Sebastian pushed back against the stiffness in the cock. He could smell the release, and then, as it cooled, found a small splatter had landed upon his cheek.
Without thinking he flicked his tongue out to lick it off, and the tang of the seed seemed to perfectly mirror his mood, sour and bitter. He savoured it, the sharpness making him all the more aware of the room, and Fenris, whose shoulders sagged in a way that told of a release more than physical.
He got to his feet, leaving the arrow upon the floor, and stood, a little too close to Fenris. The elf backed away, moving to a chair to save his legs, which seemed to have lost their strength. He touched upon the welts on his back, testing them, and decided that he would be most comfortable sitting forward.
"I'll… I'll go get dressed. Shall I bring through your own armour?"
"Hmmm, yes… the humidity of the washroom may warp the leather…." Fenris's voice was hazy, and Sebastian envied the elf his obvious contentment. He gave a nod, and went to the wash room, the fires under the bath still burning and making the water steam.
His fingers seemed slow to fasten the buckles and ties of his clothes, and he put it down to his overall reluctance to have the inevitable conversation that awaited him in the main hall. His body seemed heavy, and his chest tight, as he finally pulled a loose tunic over his head. Slower than befitted a rogue of his calibre, he gathered Fenris's various bits of armour, some of which were spikey, and dug into his forearms as he left the washroom. He made sure not to leave any of his own possessions behind, just in case he had to make a hasty retreat should Fenris not take the news well.
One look, at Fenris curled with a robe draped over his lap, reassured the prince that he had not only succeeded in granting Fenris an enjoyable evening, but also ensured that the elf was less likely to try and remove his heart, given the wide soft smile, and sparkling eyes.
Oddly, a second chair had been dragged by the fire, much closer to Fenris's than the elf usually allowed. Sebastian placed the armour down on the ground, no stand available to hang it from, and took the chair, sitting on the edge, though he had no need to keep the weight from his back.
It was good that Fenris seemed more at ease, and it warmed Sebastian more than the nearby fire to see the elf smiling. He matched it, and for the first time that evening, it did not feel forced.
"I perhaps should have asked earlier, but you did such a fine job of distracting me…" began Fenris, his voice light and jovial, but to Sebastian his words stung, as the elf inadvertently stumbled upon Sebastian's plot to draw Fenris's attention from the almost-confession of feelings. The prince turned his head to listen, and tried not to let his smile fade from his face. Fenris continued; "How is your chest? If you do not mind me asking, of course…"
"Ack, nothing to worry about. All I need is a good night's sleep, and I'll be right as rain."
"Hmmm. At any rate, I have been thinking…" Fenris continued, eyeing Sebastian sceptically, as if he did not quite believe Sebastian's tolerance for the pain, "that you have had a rather poor run of luck of late. I would suggest that the next time Hawke comes round with some idea to go exploring some forsaken hole in the ground, you tell him you'd rather eat a raw nug."
"It is funny you should mention that … I have actually been thinking of curtailing my adventuring, before I lose something vital." He gave a grin through clenched teeth, hoping his humour might soften the words. It was wise to tackle the issue piece by piece, he decided, so that he could gage how Fenris took the news. He could see how Fenris reacted to the idea of him choosing the chantry over the near endless battles he fought with when in Hawke's company, and judge whether Fenris would be accepting of Sebastian's decision not to see him anymore. He watched, and waited, as Fenris took in the information.
Fenris frowned, and concern radiated from his green eyes. "Is it because you were hurt so badly?"
"No. Though I'll certainly admit the injury gave me time to think. I do believe I would serve the Maker better within the chantry walls, rather than gallivanting round the countryside. I still have the freed slaves to get home, and Elthina has much too much to manage on her own. I have a duty, and I have been somewhat remiss in my obligations."
The expression held by the elf relaxed, as though Fenris might have been afraid that Sebastian had been so gravely wounded as to make him shy from the fights and scuffles that had become part of day-to-day life when you were friends with the champion of Kirkwall. He gave a sage nod, "I understand, you must do what you think is right. The chantry means a lot to you, and you help many people, I'm sure Hawke will respect your decision."
Sebastian breathed deep, but the air in the room suddenly seemed thin, and he frowned as he struggled to draw enough air into his lungs.
"Is something the matter?" Fenris had brought a hand out, to carefully rest upon the arm of Sebastian's chair. Sebastian dismissed it with a wave, shaking his head and spreading his lips wide into a smile.
"It's nothing."
"No, it's not." Fenris did not move his hand, and his tone was firm.
That gave Sebastian cause to pause, and regard Fenris closely. It had been too long since anyone had gotten close enough to be able to see past his masks and deceptions, and it unnerved him that Fenris had managed to see him. He considered a further lie, covering himself and telling Fenris he was mistaken, but for all his various veils and tricks, he felt, no knew that Fenris deserved the truth.
"There... there is something else." He could not look, and so watched the fire crackle and burn, and spoke with his eyes diverted from the elf. "I plan to better adhere to my responsibilities at the chantry… and this includes respecting my vows. I… have been lax in honouring them, and feel I ought to correct this."
Fenris's face fell, and his bottom lip hung open. "…You mean to bring an end to … this…" he gestured weakly, at the room where they'd both found pleasure and release, and each other. Sebastian nodded, slowly, then brought his face up, his high-blood demanding that he at least look Fenris in the eye as he vandalised the friendship he'd come to cherish so much.
"It is through no error on your part." He offered, as small consolation, "It was my fault I strayed from my oaths, but... for what it is worth, I have very much enjoyed straying... with you."
Worse than thrown objects of retaliation, worse than tears, was the way Fenris's face tightened, expression guarded and defences up.
"I see." Curt, and so sharp it would put Hawke's daggers to shame. Sebastian winced, knowing he deserved it.
The elf did not plead, nor beg Sebastian to change his mind, his pride too strong for such things. His eyes, however, held no such qualms. They shone at Sebastian, hopeful, heartbreaking, till Sebastian could no longer stand it.
"I think I'd better take my leave."
Fenris said nothing, but his hand clenched upon the arm of Sebastian's chair, the strain evident in the slight tremble of muscles and tendon. Sebastian stood, and the chair scrapped against the stone floor. With heavy footfalls, he walked from the fireplace, and Fenris, stopping at the doorframe and trying to resist looking back. He could not help himself, and let his eyes settle one last time on a white-haired figure, curled into a chair, gazing back at him with sad green eyes.
Sebastian had not slept well, and after he had spilled two cups of tea, and accidentally muddled the hymn sheets for the day, Elthina, with an exasperated air, sent him out to the square in front of the chantry, to check that no sordid or otherwise inappropriate notices had been posted to the chantry notice board.
The letters of the messages seemed to swim before him, and Sebastian had to stare long and hard before deciding that the few scribbled notes were genuine. As he turned to go back up the stairs, he did not at first recognise the figure garbed in plain trousers and a dark brown overshirt, lurking in the shadows on the surrounding walls. He paused, and turned to better look over the man who appeared to be watching him.
"….Anders?" The sight of the healer was not welcome, he had much too much to think on, without the apostate mage shuffling round the courtyard.
"Well that sodding well tears it. Is there a point to dressing up in some likely lice-infested grab when you're only going to go and shout my name to the whole city?" Anders gave a sigh, and brushed his hair, which hung loose around his head, from his eyes.
"I… apologise." And in truth, Sebastian was sorry that Anders had so much fear that he regarded the chantry as more dangerous than Dalish camps or smuggler's secret caves. He straightened, "To what do I owe this visit?"
"Just checking in on my most popular patient at the moment. Really, can't take you anywhere without you doing yourself an injury. I brought some salve, for the pain… Don't you try to weasel out of it, I know that type of wound, and I'll bet it is 'nippy'."
The word nippy, that he only had cause to use once or twice, was definitely a Starkhaven term, and Sebastian smiled a little at Anders's mimic of his accent. He took the offered bottle, and tucked it in his armour, the habit of putting the pieces of metal of too much ingrained to switch so easily for the standard chantry robes.
"I am sorry I cannot do more. Perhaps, if you were to drop by the clinic…?" Anders quietly said, wary of the passers-by that might overhear.
"Not necessary, but thanks all the same."
Anders shrugged, and Sebastian saw how tired the healer looked, dark skin gathered round his eyes, more than just a simple restless night might merit.
"I… wanted to thank you for your note. Bodahn brought it in this morning, and it was signed with an F but I recognised your handwriting. Still, it was thoughtful of you to try and apologise on Fenris's behalf…. Though I doubt he'd appreciate your efforts much-"
"His words, I only wrote them down." Sebastian interrupted, and knew his voice to be too sharp. He watched as Anders's brows rose in response, and was quietly glad Fenris had used the letter.
"Really? That is… a surprise…."
When Sebastian said nothing to explain or elaborate, Anders scratched the back of his neck, looking nervously around, then back to the archer.
"Thanks all the same then. Also, Hawke is calling for you…. He is collecting able bodies for a trip to the bone pit…"
The bone pit, and the high dragon that had lurked within, made Sebastian give Anders an incredulous glance. Anders threw up his hands; "I know, I know, and I don't much blame you for not wanting to go back. That beast took a fair chunk from you, and I know I'd certainly not be so quick to skip back into such a place. I'll let Hawke know."
"If you could inform Hawke I am no longer available for any of his… ventures…."
Anders raised an eyebrow, and took a half step closer, questioning the statement.
"Much as I have enjoyed being stabbed and clawed and chewed on by all manner of beasts, I feel I ought to focus my attentions of the needs of the chantry. I am needed here, and Hawke has all manner of other able allies he can call upon to help him."
"So… you're going to be here from now on…?" Anders's face was… fearful, but the expression seemed misplaced, so Sebastian put it down to the pair of Templar crossing the doorway behind him.
"Mostly, yes."
"You… could come on some excursions surely….?" There was an odd whine to the mage's voice, almost a plea. Sebastian crossed his arms, and gave a firm shake of his head. If Fenris with all his allure and temptation could not sway him, the scruffy almost-abomination certainly would not.
"…. I shall let Hawke know. We'll… miss you, you know. You're a good man, and I'd hate for you to be caught up – I mean cooped up in here all day long…"
Sebastian looked behind him, at the magnificent chantry building, towers stretching towards the sky like hands raised in praise. "It's not a cage." He said quietly and shot the apostate a solid glare. Anders nodded unhappily.
"As you will… clinic's always open to you should you ever have the need…. Goodbye Sebastian."
There was something strangely final about Anders's tone, but then, without Hawke to drag him from the chantry, or see him wounded enough to need a healer, Sebastian supposed he'd not have cause to come in contact with Anders. He gave a small nod of thanks for the salve, and the all incidental healing he'd been received over the last years, as Anders left. Anders did not smile as he walked away, and soon Sebastian was left alone in the square in front of the chantry.
He gave the notice board a last, distracted glance, then headed up the stairway. The large ornate doors stood before him, and he pushed his way in, closing the heavy wood behind him, the sound of ancient wood upon stone louder than any prison cell door.
End part 7
(Fear not, there is a part 8)
