A/N: I usually can't compliment bioware on subtlety, but I do like how quests of all companions after betrayal basically called "NPC's Apology", but for Fenris it's "Fenris's Night Terrors".
Somebody hears you. you know that inside.
Someone is learning the colors of all your moods, to
(say just the right thing and) show that you're understood.
There are three types of people trying to do business in the early morning. Sebastian's type - cheerful and enthusiastic morning bird, who had a long nights rest and is ready to brighten everyone's day. Isabela's type - who didn't sleep at all and now were in a hazely good-humoured indifference, trying to find something entertaining enough to stay awake. And Hawke's type - night owls, who got a little sleep, but not nearly enough, and now were spending all of their willpower on keeping themselves from strangling the shiny morning birds.
The mage perched herself on top of the stone Hightown fence, balancing herself with one foot - Isabela suspected only to keep herself from falling asleep. Usually at that time she'd be exchanging sarcastic jabs with Fenris, but right now she was cherishing her offence. It was almost weird to not have the elf around when they went on quests. He became nearly irreplaceable in their group after Carver left. It made sense - Hawke was used to working with a two-handed fighting style because of her brother and Fenris was specifically trained to be a mage's bodyguard. In the last three years they became practically synchronized in battle, which was nice except for the occasions like this one, because now there was a glaring hole in their defense.
"Where's Merrill?" the mage muttered with irritation. «She was supposed to be here half-an-hour ago."
"So," Isabela said nonchalantly, leaning against the fence at Hawke's side, "how long are you planning on holding on to that precious grudge of yours?"
"Izzy, it isn't a grudge," the mage said testily, even managing to fully open her sleepy eyes for a moment. "It was a betrayal! They tried to kill me!"
"In a dream. So you'd, oh, I don't know, tragically and unreservedly wake up."
"So we'd got a mage of rare devastating power possessed by demons and undoubtedly on a killing spree! Besides, betrayal is a betrayal. And how can I trust someone, who succumbed to a demon's offer once?"
"And how are you trusting Merrill then? You're taking her along."
"I don't," she said curtly. "But she never made a secret of her alignment, and I see her as too well-meaning and harmless for now to kill."
"Everyone has their weakness," Isabela said softly.
"I was telling demons to fuck off not just once, but for years. I know that it is possible to resist, and, oh believe me, I wanted to have what I was offered more than to keep my life."
"Not everyone has your wings and your fire, Hawke."
The mage puffed and looked away.
You little golden fool.
"Anyway, wasn't trying to get you off your high horse or anything, but from a purely practical standpoint, not having a single fighter in the group sucks. Let me tell you, a prospect of being the only one who fights in close combat doesn't excite me. I prefer to have at least one very noticeable stick in the mud that all enemies surround, so I can have an easy go on their backs. And it's in your dire interest too, since right now there won't be anyone capable of distracting people pissed off at your fireballs."
Aside from this, the pirate wouldn't mind that much a little break of having the mage and Fenris in the same company since their attraction turned from entertaining self-denying tension into the irritating courting rituals of five-year olds. The other day they were walking side by side and Hawke kept trying to kick the elf, until she slipped in the dirt and he caught her arm to keep her from falling. Then he grinned and bowed a little, and she blushed and tried to kick him again so awkwardly, that Varric and Isabela had to roll their eyes at each other.
"We'll manage," Hawke said stubbornly.
"Certainly we will! It's only a question of how many broken bones that were supposed to be given to your 'betrayers' you'll get instead."
The mage shrugged with her chin proudly high, but suddenly Sebastian blunged into the conversation.
"It's natural that you were disturbed by that event. The fade was not meant for mortals to enter and the results of the recent affair has proven it again. But perhaps if you'd care to give it a chance, you could find out all questions that gnaw on you are already answered in the Chant."
Hawke turned her head to him and pointedly slowly sized him up.
"My father always said - religion is like sex: don't discuss it with people unless you're planning to practice it together. You're not going to like my opinion, princeling, so let's not dwell on that."
Isabela huffed. The Chantry boy tried to talk with Hawke about faith for a long time now, but she always evaded it with perfect politeness. But she was too unsettled right now, so it might work for him.
"It's understandable that you're resentful toward the Chantry because of your… troubles with the Templar Order, but..."
Hawke chuckled with grim amusement.
"Troubles? I wouldn't call the life-long hunt a "trouble."
Sebastian opened his mouth to answer, obviously having prepared a rebuff to this beforehand, but Hawke went on.
"But do I hate Templars? Of course I don't. Why would I hate those brainwashed boys? There's this one nice well-meaning guy - his name is Cullen, I believe, - who told me that 'mages are not people like you and me.' Do you see that it's not just dehumanizing us, but also missing the entire point of supervising a mage - that mages are weak because we're people just like everyone else? On which soil did that bullshit grow? The Chantry's teachings, of course. But can I blame the herd when a foundation of their close-mindedness was laid by their shepherd?"
Wow wow is she going to the heresy territory?
"What god creates a world, populates it with sentient beings and then just abandons it like a child would leave a sandbox with an unfinished castle - to have spirits forever envy and ache for the world they can't reach? Is it any wonder that demons try to escape that blurry empty hole they were trapped in?"
Sebastian stared at her, momentarily speechless, and Isabela couldn't blame him - excusing demons was the last thing she'd expect from Hawke.
"What creator makes possible the mechanics of blood magic just to shame it after and then throw a hissy fit when a little group of magisters uses it to bang at his door? And better yet, how petty a god should be to condemn the whole world to the Blights because of a few rotten slavers who were hated by everyone else anyway? To doom endless innocents to dying or turning into monsters he designed?"
Her sister, Isabela realized. For Hawke, blaming mindless darkspawn for her death would be no more satisfying than accusing a tree or a rock.
"And then leave his children to suffer and promise to return only if all of us scream his Chant for him loudly enough, like an offended child?"
The mage jumped up to her feet, that rare regal look of icy superiority arising in her.
"In the end, your Maker is either unable to control his own world, and then I don't see the point in praying to him, or he's a petty jerk, and then I'd prefer being damned for eternity than worshipping that bastard."
Hawke turned on her heels and walked away, her gaze so white-hot with fury that you couldn't guess was it a striking ice or a burning heat. The prince followed her with an astonished look, as if unable to decide whether he wanted to burn her at the stake or make her his queen.
She's the one who could lead people, form a cult or start a rebellion. We're lucky she's mostly interested in saving kittens and playing pranks.
Isabela caught up with an angrily marching apostate, smirking.
"You'll be a kickass Pride demon, girl."
"And you'd be top class Desire one," Hawke grinned back, loosing the inner illuminance of cold nobility.
"Well, work on that gait a little and you can join me."
The mage laughed and, after a pause, Isabela said softly.
"Any of us could be on that spot. Heck, you can start being mad at me or Varric too, since I think we'd both fail you too. Do you really believe that it's fair to give a pass to a girl who's - as much as I love her - openly deals with demons and a guy who's so unsure of himself he wouldn't even try to resist, but be mad at people who were scared to follow you, but did it nonetheless?"
Hawke sighed.
"Let's meet Merrill and tell her she won't be needed, and then I'll go talk with Aveline."
"Well, it makes sense to choose the more masculine one of the warriors. But don't worry, we don't have to meet Merrill."
Hawke stared at her with that blank round stare that you could catch very rarely on her and that made her eyes look like gold coins.
"I have a hunch she isn't coming."
It took the mage another second and then she huffed, pointing her finger at the rogue.
"You knew you'd convince me so you told Merrill to not show up!"
"Well it's your fault it took you so long to stop being a pissy snob."
"Erica!" he called, looking down from the window. "Come up here, please."
He sat in his chair and waited, preparing himself for a difficult conversation. After a couple of minutes, she threw the door open - without knocking, as always. She was flushed and breathless from running, her hair ruffled and her clothes had spots of dust, ash and grass all over her, and few feathers stuck in her lousy ponytail.
"Erica, look at yourself!"
"Sorry, Dad. I'll wash before Mom sees me."
"The point is in being clean, not hiding from your Mother."
"Well, if I knew you're going to lecture me on my looks, I'd take time to clean myself. I thought it was going to be something important."
"Sit down," Malcolm said with a sigh. His willful daughter nested herself in a chair in front of him, legs tucked in, placing her elbows on her scrapped bony knees.
"This talk is important, so please, be serious. I'm going to tell you about demons."
She leaned forward, her eyes flaring up with excitement. She was the only one of their children who got the amber eye color from him the twins had their mother's shade of blue.
"Some demons are very primitive, such as Rage and Hunger ones. They'll try to straight up fight you. Some are… more sophisticated."
"They'll try to sell you blood magic for your soul!"
"Well yes, but not only that. They can offer a great many things and some of them can look harmless. But don't believe it. There can be no honest deal with a demon."
She nodded solemnly, her lips pressed tight.
"In the Fade, demons can see your weaknesses, your dreams and fears. Different kinds of demons prey on different types of persons."
"Oh, oh, I know, mine is Pride! Because I'm too proud! But I figured it out! I know that even though I'm awesome, I'm not better than others. Because everyone is awesome in their own ways and in the end we all are equal!"
Malcolm shook his head and tried to hide a smile.
"Well, of course you're right and it is an important point to make. But if for once you'd let me finish, I was going to tell you that Pride is not a demon who'll come after you."
"Um, why?"
"Demon's names echo not the most prominent aspect of the people they'll seek, but the most hurt. Repressed, underdeveloped and denied."
"But how..."
"Pride demons offer power to prove yourself. Their victims are people who are insecure, hurt or humiliated, who think that they deserve better, but feel themselves unable to achieve their goals."
"Got it. Pride demons are for weak cowards."
Malcolm closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Erica is bright and quick-witted, but too prone to fast and harsh judgements. It will help her in situations when there's a need for taking an immediate and hard decision, but she'll have to learn to look deeper and re-evaluate her opinions.
"No. And you threw two completely different motivations in one pile. Weak ones will want to hold their power over others, to be feared, to rule. But the ones driven by fear do not essentially wish to hurt others, merely to be protected themselves. This does not necessarily means that they are weak."
"But you said they are helpless and can't do anything by themselves!"
"This is not what I said. I said that they feel themselves weak. Even strong and competent people might believe they are helpless, if the world was cruel to them. Can you do much to help yourself when you're ill or badly hurt?"
"But why turn to demons? Why don't they just ask for help? "
"They might be ashamed and they don't want to be seen as weak."
"But there is no shame in asking for help when you need it!"
"Of course not. But sadly, there are too many ill-natured people in the world who will try to use a brief helplessness for their advantage and far less of those who'd actually help."
She frowned and looked down, forced to face the fact that the world doesn't meet her standards of perfection. But she resolved the issue momentarily, looking up and raising her chin.
"I'll always help!"
Yes, sadly, you will, Malcolm thought, looking into her determined bright eyes.
It wasn't true that he loved Erica more than the twins. His love for each of his children was so much bigger than he himself that he couldn't even try to measure it. But his eldest required much more active attention. She already possessed the charisma of a natural leader - other children flocked around her and followed her in every new village the family settled in. She was stubborn, self-willed, competitive and brash - those features alone would make her life complicated and troubled. But unfortunately, she also inherited his magic - a burden of responsibility that he desperately wished none of his kids had to carry. So now he had to do all he could to teach her, to help her avoid the many mistakes and scars that he made.
"Yes, but others might not be aware of it or were burned too often in the past to trust again."
"Why are you telling me this? Do you want to excuse blood mages?"
The disgust in her voice almost cheered him up. If anything, at least he was sure she won't take this path.
"I want you to be able to recognize when someone is in danger of a dire mistake and prevent it."
She folded her arms and puffed her lips, looking unconvinced.
"Please, daughter. Even if you don't understand everything that I'm saying now, try to remember it. It might be very important in your future."
She sighed and straightened up, furrowing her brows.
"Desire demons are different. They prey on repressed needs, they offer people something that they were denied for a long time."
"So it's easy, you just need to do everything you want and then they can't do anything!"
"It's not so simple, child. Sometimes we lose something or someone who we cherished without any reason, and it's very painful and unfair. And when you're hurting, you can't think straight, you're just angry and want it back, because you didn't deserve this pain. In this moment of weakness demons might exploit even the strongest people. Or perhaps you'll think that someone is just foolish and doesn't know what's good for them, that you can easily fix it because you're right and mean well."
"I'm totally confused and all this doesn't make any sense," Erica said with her usual straightforwardness and Malcolm smiled.
"It's alright, you will get it when you grow up. Just remember what I said and try to think about it. Now go, clean up before Mother can see you in such an un-noble state."
She beamed and ran away and he sighed.
My little fire bird, I hope you'll never need all these lectures, but if you ever do, I hope I'll have time to give you enough...
I walked into his mansion in the late evening, when the last sunlight was fading over the sea. I never liked this house. Even in the mornings, it reminded me of the lake's bottom - rare sun rays with dust slowly swirling inside, piercing the deep shadows, creating shimmering patterns on decaying faded furniture. In the night, it was even worse - ascending the crumbling stairwell, I felt like I was moving through cursed ruins, swallowed by time and silence, chilly whispery darkness weighing down on me. And in the end of the way, there was a ghost waiting for me.
Fenris stood very still, straight and somber, wearing a plain white shirt instead of his battle tunic. He looked even more otherworldly than usual, with moonlight giving his white hair a cold silver gleam and the fire behind his back carving dramatic shadows on his already angular features. He met my eyes and stepped forward, swallowing hard.
"I've been thinking about what happened in the Fade."
Up close I could see that the shadows under his eyes weren't just from the light - there were prominent dark circles and skin stretched tiredly.
"That a demon could have played so easily on my fears… disturbs me," his voice faltered and he looked away for a second, but then met my eyes again, his tone determined. "I failed you. I won't let that happen again."
I sighed.
"Remember when we first met and you asked me to help kill your master? You met us outside of this mansion and told me to be cautious. And then you started yelling the moment we entered the door. Frankly, for some time it made me think that you're not the sharpest tool in the shed. That, and the fact it took you so long to recognize I'm a mage. It puzzled me after I got to know you better, because you are bright, cautious and observant. And then I realized. You wanted him to flee."
Fenris inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening.
"Even with my support, you were afraid to face him. You still are."
He looked down, with a pained crease between knitted eyebrows.
"I saw you stand up against monsters five times bigger than you and charge a dragon who almost killed you, half-unconscious. I know you're not a coward."
He finally looked me in the eyes.
"It's not my life I'm afraid to lose. It's myself," he stumbled, cringing, his voice hoarse. "I can't become this… thing again. I can't bear even memories of what I was."
I couldn't imagine what he must have felt. Losing myself never seemed possible to me, for me dilemma formulated in "life or freedom" and the choice here was clear. But still, I tried to understand what he was going through.
"Fenris, it won't happen," I said slowly and firmly, choosing words carefully. "He's just another blood mage slaver that we hunt every other week. He has no power over you. You changed. You should be proud that you climbed out of the pit life threw you into. He can't break you anymore."
"There's nothing that I'd wanted more than for you to be right," he said quietly, still not looking at me.
"In the Fade, you said you want to face him as an equal," I said softly and he jerked his head away, hiding his eyes under fallen bangs, his lips twisted in shame. "But it's impossible. You'd be too good for that even if you fall."
He looked up abruptly, his eyes conflicted. I gave him a crooked smirk, shrugged and turned to walk away when he said
"I recall you owe me a neck-rub."
He tried to sound humorously, but even his tone was too tense. It had a hidden question - "are we still together?" - I could read it in the strain and concern in his lopsided smirk, eyebrows slightly raised in tentative hope, vulnerability of reaching out in his distraught eyes. He didn't want me to leave him right now, alone and haunted.
Wait, how did you even see all of this in a single glance?
'You'll notice when you feel the same...'
Nonsense, it's just that he's really expressive and we spent years grimacing at each other.
"Oh well," I said, shrugging and faking a sigh. "Gotta always pay my debts, right?"
Relief washed over his face and for the first time today sun lit up in his eyes, so I couldn't help but smile back.
Damn, we really need to do something about this disarming effect...
When he settled down on the bench in front of the fireplace, I stood behind him and placed my hands on his shoulders, looking at the fluffy cloud in front of me.
Aww, to the void with that!
I rested my chin on top of his head and he froze for a moment, but then he loosened up and leaned a little against me. I started to rub his shoulders gently and felt the tense lean strength of his muscles starting to relax slowly.
Okay, it's still not hot steamy action, but we're definitely moving there. Perhaps in just another three years we get to kiss!
"So, what happened in the Fade eventually? Anders said you sent him away to talk with the boy alone."
"Yeah… It's that the only available option for him to learn to control his powers is Tevinter, sadly. So I gave him a compilation of all the lectures my Dad gave me about responsibility for magic and all that. How it's gonna be hard, but he shouldn't let the magisters influence him."
"And you think he'll be able to resist?"
"I hope so. He seems to be a good kid. He was a bit pissed at me for sending him to the Circle instead of the Dalish, but he got over it when I explained myself."
"Ah, yes. I remember being surprised you did so."
"Oh, right, we didn't talk back then. By the way, why did you think I did it then?"
"Well, I thought you're completely irrational and nonsensical at the time, so I just assumed there was a random fluctuation in your mood."
"So you thought I'm an idiot? Great."
"Let's say I thought you're lucky you're so beautiful."
I chuckled, shaking my head.
"But why did you actually send him to the Circle?"
"Well, as I told him, I'd be happy to let him go to the elves, but the only available Dalish clan has a Keeper who just dumped her blood mage apprentice on me and a creepy demon idol nearby, so it didn't seem like a great choice."
"Reasonable enough from your point. As for the boy, we shall see what he becomes, and if he regrets the mercy you provided."
I sighed, running my fingers over the sides of his neck and inducing a barely audible rumbling moan from him.
"Fenris, do I not see people for what they really are?"
"Of course," he answered without hesitation. "If you did, you wouldn't keep the possessed deserter and the blood mage in your company."
"Hey!"
"You asked," he shrugged and I pinched him.
"You believe the world is better than it is, but it's not all bad. How can things change for the better, if there's no one who can imagine how 'better' should look like?"
"But not if it means being blind to the present."
"I'd prefer to live in your world," he said quietly and seriously, but then his tone lightened. "Everyone'd have a mabari, the most malicious thing mages could do would be turning boots into frogs and I believe I'd finally acquire a taste for fish, an armor of proper fashion and smaller eyebrows."
With what I can feel under your shirt right now, you'd acquire no clothing at all...
"I wouldn't change your eyebrows," I said, chuckling, and circled my arms around his neck.
"Really? Well, one step less on the road to perfection."
He placed his hand over mine and stroked it thoughtfully.
"Perhaps you could try that ear trick you spoke about?"
I blinked in surprise and sat down on the bench next to him to look him in the eyes.
"Are you sure?"
Fenris shrugged with a lopsided grin.
"Even if it doesn't help, it shouldn't hurt, right?"
"I mean, you seemed really unsettled by it back then."
His smirk softened, but his strangely intense gaze focused on me. He reached out slowly and caught my chin, then gingerly trailed his fingers up my cheek, then finally tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and smiled with an absent-minded satisfaction.
I just stared at him with raised eyebrows and he finally said, without moving his hand away.
"It's easier to accept a different meaning behind the same gesture after you've experienced the intent yourself and been able to act on it."
Whaaaat?
I think he said that since he wanted to stroke me behind the ear himself and just did it, he doesn't mind? But what "different meaning behind the same gesture" could there be?
Man, the simpler the subject, the more sophisticated Fenris gets. I hope we'll never argue over who's doing the dishes or he'll drive me into an existential crisis with philosophical rants.
I sighed and leaned a little into his palm, and suddenly something changed in his eyes, like a dark green sea depth losing the playful translucent gleam when the sun hides for a moment. His fingers tensed and he leaned forward, tilting his head a little, but caught himself in the last moment, coughing embarrassingly and taking his hand away.
Wow, that was close. Maybe it won't take three years after all...
"Fine then," I said softly and stood up, circling him to stand behind the bench.
Okay, where did she say that spot was? I hope I don't strike some instant killing spot instead… Err, imagine a line from the tip of the ear down to the base that will divide it into two equal parts… A-ha, I think it's there… Then press lightly and move clockwise…
His body went limp, like some inner ties were cut. His head bobbed down and his shoulders fell back, leaning on me, like a puppet with its threads loose.
"Maker's breath, are you alright?!"
"Perfectly fine," he sounded a little hazy, but coherent. "No need for shouting."
"But you just..."
"I believe it worked. Quite relaxing indeed. Go on."
I stroked behind his ear absent-mindedly, which prompted a vaguely approving low rumbling.
I dont think it was supposed to work this way… Well, maybe he only has two states - tense as a bow-string and barely awake lump. Wait a minute...
"Fenris?"
"Mmmmph?"
"Did you even sleep last night?"
"Couldn't. Nightmares."
That's it then. Too much stress and sleep deprivation, so "relaxing" turned into "collapsing".
"You can't just stop sleeping!"
"It's fine," he muttered absently."I'll just drink until I pass out. Always works."
Oh, Maker's breath!
"You know what, let's get you to bed."
He tensed up a bit, but didn't protest and stood up shakily, his eyelids lowered.
Can he even walk right now?
Hastily, I put my arm around his waist and, with me supporting him like this, we walked across the room to his narrow bed. There I started pulling away, but suddenly his arm tightened around me. I looked up at him in confusion. He half-sat on the bed, his knee resting here, and he didn't look like he couldn't support himself.
Well, you're apparently able to keep your balance, so why do you…
Then I met his eyes and lost my trail of thought. He looked at me from under half-closed lids, his eyes hazy and deep green, lips slightly parted, his hand, warm and firm on my waist, pulling me down. I felt my throat go dry, swallowed and saw his gaze flick over my lips. In the dark shadows, with only shimmering fire light from the other side of the room, his eyes gleamed with intoxicating, almost feverish anticipation.
But there was something even more unusual in him right now - something bordering on timidness or resignation, his features soften in a way more resembling passivity than comfort, and he avoided directly meeting my gaze. The lack of stubbornness and glaring focus in his eyes weirdly unsettled me.
"You look like a drunk racoon," I croaked, jerking away awkwardly. "You really need to sleep."
After a second of hesitation Fenris let me go, sliding back to the bed. When he settled on the pillow, this hazy seductiveness and strange compliance vanished, and he instantly turned into a grouchy disheveled owling.
"I told you, I can't sleep."
I grinned. Grumpiness was good, I knew how to deal with grumpiness.
"Bullshit, you're barely awake right now."
"I won't be able to hear if someone enters. What if slavers come?"
I rolled my eyes, but didn't say anything and whistled loudly instead. In a second Rex rushed into the room, barking excitedly, obviously tired of waiting for me near the stairwell where I Ieft him.
"Guard," I told him, nodding at Fenris, and turned to the elf. "There. He'll hear anyone a street away."
He blinked in surprise and then smiled with an awkward gratefulness.
"Thank you. You didn't have to..."
"No!" I yelled, noticing that my mabari quietly climbed on the bed. "Get down and stay on the floor!"
At Fenris' feet, Rex curled into the smallest ball the over-sized warhound could manage and pressed his head to the elf's knees, sighing like a martyr.
"Well, it's alright, I guess..." the elf started, but I cut him off.
"No, it's not! You don't know what you're talking about. In half-an-hour, he'll be lying on your pillow and you'll be lying on the floor."
Rex looked up at him with big wet eyes and whined tragically.
"Whimpering, really? I'm ashamed of you!"
"You can stay," the elf said, smiling, and I groaned.
"You're gonna regret trusting this manipulating bastard, you fool."
"Well, then it seems I'll never learn," he answered with a crooked grin. I sighed.
"Get good rest. Rex, don't let him get up until it's at least noon tomorrow."
He smiled sleepily, obviously struggling to keep awake, soft sunshine in his eyes muted by almost closed lashes and disheveled bangs. But now it was his usual tentative tenderness looking out from behind an awkward pride, so I grinned back.
"Thank you… for everything."
"Nah, it's ok. Just remember, you're not allowed to have bad dreams tonight."
He smile grew wider and I couldn't help myself. I leaned in, quickly planted a kiss on the tip of his nose and walked out, grinning when he breathed out hoarsely behind my back.
"Congratulations. You've handled it well," the pleasant voice I hoped to never hear again said out of nowhere.
"Get out of my dream."
"How rude. And here I was trying to satisfy your taste with a view."
I stood on a steep slope of a volcano, obsidian black rocks around creating a sharp-edged silhouette. Between them, flowing slowly from a crater at the top, crept torrents of lava - swirling bright azure streams, illuminating an eerie glow.
"Very subtle hint that you can get into my head."
"Nothing like that. "It's not like you didn't know that any demon can read thoughts and dreams of mortals. Fortunately, very few know how to use it efficiently."
"Fortunately?"
"I wouldn't want competition. So, as I said, the situation was resolved very productively. You learned that I was right…"
"No, you weren't."
"...and that your supposed friends can betray you at any moment, if you don't control them."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, shut up."
"Don't be so upset. It will bring you benefits too. It's useful to have honorable people betray you once and be forgiven. The next time, in a crisis, their guilt will keep them loyal even if they don't approve of your decision."
"I don't need your advice on how to treat my friends."
"Oh, but you do..."
Blue lyrium veins flared up and started to spiral around me.
"Your branded wolf requires a careful approach."
"Don't you fucking call him that."
"Ha, I rather detest it myself. Wolf, what a boring cliche. This old master of his was obviously deprived of an imagination. 'Tis fortunate it wasn't he who designed the tattoos, or it'd be just stripes. You, on the other hand, have a very vivid imagination. This volcano metaphor is very refreshing. But you need to go deeper. You should learn to shape people into the concepts you want."
"What bullshit is it?"
"This is not bullshit at all. Ideas shape the Fade, but they also shape people - their minds. All you need to do is change someone's perception of themselves. This elf will provide excellent training material - he's already very confused about who he is. And even if you make mistakes, it won't be critical - it's hard to make his situation much worse than it is now. And I'll help you to make it better."
"Yeah, I'm sure he'll be grateful."
"Of course he will. He'll be grateful for any sense of stability. He's in a constant stress and anxiety right now, because he doesn't have any behavioral scenarios for this life - and especially for the relationship with you."
"Oh, I don't know how to act with him too, it's not that bad, it just takes a little time."
"No. You just don't know which pattern to use, so you try a few different ones until something works."
A few little obsidian bridges sprout up from under my feet, crossing the glowing blue steams around.
"He has to construct a completely new path, which is much more difficult."
Separated rocks started to pile up, as if trying to form a bridge, but quickly shook and fell into the lava.
"You see, you mortals are constricted by crude limitations of your meat. I meant bodies, sorry. Your mind is able to form new different behavioral scenarios easily until a certain age. Just childhood, actually. Still possible in adolescence, but it takes much more effort. For adults, it's nearly impossible. That's why people seek out partners who remind them of their parents or previous lovers, even if they weren't happy together - it's simply because they know how to act around these people. This is what your elf longs for - a scenario where he knows how to act."
"But he doesn't remember his life before the markings and the only way he knows how to act is… Maker's breath, fuck you! I'm not going to act like a slaver!"
"Oh, spare me your peevish hysterics. You oversimplify it. Of course, I don't tell you to put a leash on him. It's only a core scenario, the prime dynamic that you need to resemble. He wouldn't even know it and, of course, no one would use such a crud term."
"No fucking way!"
"Honestly, it's rather cruel of you to make him struggle like he does now, alone and without support."
"Will you shut the fuck up? He's smart, he can figure out how to live his life."
"Foolish, foolish blind hawk. Any identity is build on the acceptance of others. You can't be a lover without someone to love. You're such a confident brave hawk because your parents taught you that you'll be accepted no matter what you choose to be. And you think your elf will manage to build some positive identity on that nice self-loathing foundation he's got with your half-hearted joking compliments? You truly are astonishingly blind."
I gritted my teeth, trying to find arguments, but he continued again.
"Don't worry, I'll help you. I'll teach you how to weave him into the perfect fairytale you always wanted. He will be my gift to you to celebrate the beginning of our partnership."
"Screw you!"
I woke up while rocks scattered over the sides of volcano with a sound of his laugh.
Let our formulas find your soul.
We'll divine your artesian source (in your mind),
Marshal feed and force (our machines will)
To design you a perfect love—
Or (better still) a perfect lust.