CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: DINNER WITH PROFESSOR RABBIT

Several hours later, Althaea arrived back in her room, sweaty and thoroughly beaten up, but feeling rather accomplished. She poked her head into the bedroom, where a lump of blankets indicated that Fenris was still sleeping. Maker. He must be very tired indeed. She ran a bath and soaked in a salt mixture she'd gotten from the house herbwife. It soothed her aching muscles and left her feeling much better than she had going in. She draped her dressing gown around herself, went back to where Fenris was sleeping, and had a seat next to his prone form.

She brushed a few stray hairs out of his eyes, and he mumbled a little in his sleep, though she couldn't tell what he was saying. She leaned down to caress his face and kissed him softly on the cheek.

"Rise and shine, love."

He groaned and buried his head further into the pillow. "It's too early."

"You've been asleep for almost sixteen hours."

He rolled over abruptly and regarded her with an appraising, if sleepy, eye. "It doesn't feel that way." He reached an arm up and pulled her down into the sheets. "You smell good."

"You wouldn't have said that half an hour ago," she said. "I just bathed."

"How long have you been awake?"

"A few hours. I went down to the gymnasium for some floor work, but Nigel had other ideas."

He hummed thoughtfully. "Sparring?"

She nodded. "I'm still not very good at it, but I learned a few tricks." She snuggled in a little closer, and she could feel him smiling into her hair. "Are you feeling any better?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I don't want you to worry about me."

"That's impossible," she said. "You're running yourself ragged and it's killing me to see you like this. I don't think we should do this anymore. Let me sort out my own dreams."

She felt, rather than saw him frown. "Your nightmares, you mean."

"Semantics." She wriggled her way up so she could look him in the eye. "Tercia says there's a tea I can drink for a deep and dreamless sleep. I think I may try it. I can't bear to see you so drained."

"I've lived through worse."

Althaea didn't know what the worst part of that statement was: whether he had actually lived through worse, or that he seemed to be so cavalier about it. "I will not let you suffer for my sake, Fenris," she said. "You're running yourself ragged and the bags under your eyes could carry my groceries home. I can't abide it - the amulet stays off at night, or Maker help me, I will force-feed you that tea myself."

He sighed, defeated. "As you wish."

There was a knock on the door, and Althaea got up to answer it; Samara stood at the entry with a smile. "Mae meant to come by, but she was caught up in a few house matters, so here's a message for you." Upon seeing a mussy-haired Fenris emerge from the bedroom, she added: "May I fetch breakfast for Messere Leto?"

"Oh, yes, that would be lovely, thank you." Samara curtsied and left, and Althaea sliced the envelope open to read Mae's message:

Amelia:

Professor Phoebus Demitridis of the thaumaturgical college at the University of Minrathous has accepted my invitation to tonight's evening meal. I am inviting you as well, seeing as the two of you have so much in common. Please bring yourself, your appetite, and your best Fereldan accent, and keep in mind that we must observe traditional social conventions until we can confirm that he can be trusted.

I look forward to your presence tonight - M

Fenris stretched and raised an eyebrow as she brought the message down. She handed it over and waited a moment as he had a look; it took him a bit longer as he still had to subvocalize to ensure he was getting all the words right.

"Traditional social conventions," he muttered, shaking his head. "I take it that means I'm not invited."

She frowned, knowing he wouldn't be happy about that. "For what it's worth, I'm fairly certain Nigel isn't invited, either."

He sighed. "Small comfort."

Althaea embraced him with a murmured "I'm sorry." He sighed again.

"I can't blame you for the social conventions," he said. "I only wish I could have a meal with you without worrying about causing unwanted attention."

It was Althaea's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Do you mean to say you wish you were human?"

"I mean to say I wish we could do the things normal people do, and that I could give you everything you deserve. And...being human wouldn't hurt that wish."

She pulled away and looked him in the eye. "I have never once wished you were human, Fenris, and I have never once wished you didn't have these." She brushed her finger along the markings on his chin, silencing the beginnings of his protest. "I love you as you are, and we might never have met without them."

He seemed to deflate, and one corner of his mouth turned up into a bittersweet smile. "I suppose you're right."

She giggled, breaking the tension. "For once!"

He smirked. "For once."

She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him; he returned it with enthusiasm. "I'm going to go and get properly dressed. Samara is bringing you breakfast."

"I'm sorry, you did what?"

"I told him you were a lay professor from the Fereldan Circle of Magi."

Althaea stopped in the middle of the marbled hallway, though her flowing skirts didn't exactly get the order. She smoothed them down in frustration and eyed Maevaris with a baleful stare. "You couldn't have picked another area of the Imperium for me to be from?"

"No, dear. It's not meant as an offense to you, but all that time you've spent away from here has marked your speech."

"You mean to say I've lost my accent."

"Precisely."

I don't belong to Tevinter, I don't belong to Kirkwall, and I'm certainly no Fereldan. Do I even have a home, anymore? She kept pace with Mae as the magister began to walk again, and placed a pensive hand against her chin. Of course I do. Anywhere Fenris is, is home.

As they continued walking, she summoned up what little she remembered of Galatea's clipped accent, the shortened vowels that Ferelden had lent her; she shaped her mouth into the required conformations and practiced a little under her breath. By the time they reached the great dining hall, she was relatively confident that she could fool anyone in the Imperium who hadn't actually ever been there. Everything else would have to come from her own memory banks, however. What was her area of study? Could she really pass as a proper professor? Maker's sake, she was an archivist, but she'd never lectured!

Well, no, she'd never lectured properly, but she had been in charge of teaching a small army of Circle apprentices in proper Arcanum and old Tevene. Surely that had to be something. Linguistics. Yes! That was the answer. Linguistics and thaumaturgy, with perhaps just a sprinkling of Adrallan philosophy on top. She had fled Tevinter for Ferelden, after all. It made sense.

Nigel opened the door for her with a mischievous wink. "Professor Demitridis has already arrived, Mistress."

And there he was: so different than he'd looked last time she'd seen him, but then she had been scarcely into her teens, and he'd been a newly minted adjunct. And before that, the last time she'd seen him was when she was eight; he'd just been relegated to Minrathous. She remembered wondering what would happen to her when she came of age, if being shipped away was what had happened to the only other non-mage in the family.

She remembered a great deal of good times with him. She'd been so young when he'd left, but they'd exchanged letters every week; she thought of the last of the ones she'd received, right before Marius had died, and where she kept them in her room: a little heartwood chest that she stowed under the bed. Resisting the urge to run up to him in their customary Bear hug was torture, and she'd nearly taken two steps forward before Mae's voice snapped her out of it.

"Professor Demitridis, a pleasure to finally meet you," she said, in a high, pleasant voice.

Phoebus was unfazed; he kept his voice low and even as he bowed to her, then shook her hand. "The pleasure is all mine, Magister Tilani."

"Maevaris is fine, thank you. And may I present Professor Amelia Fox; she's the one I told you about."

His face lit up, but not in the way she remembered seeing; it occurred to her that she'd never seen or interacted with him in this way. She must tread lightly, or risk defaulting to her usual, more intimate manner of speech. "Er, adjunct professor, actually."

"I figured as much," he said, with a bit of laughter. "You're perhaps a little young for full tenure."

"I'd also have to move to Orlais, and you'll forgive my saying so, but it is a country not to my taste." She made sure to put some of her syntax in the wrong places; after all, she could know Arcanum by the books, but never make actual use of it in that old bastion of freedom from the Imperium.

Nigel directed the setting of the tables and pulled chairs out of the corner of the great table for the three of them. "May I ask your area of study?" he said, as things began to slow down a bit.

"Well, I have varied interests, but I've mainly concerned myself with translating some of the older arcana present in the Circle library." She lowered her voice. Let's test the waters. "We have a fair amount of Adralla's original texts, well-preserved, though I've taken care not to mention that overmuch."

His eyes grew wide, though it seemed the expression was from curiosity and not from having taken offense. Good. "I'd heard that she'd taken shelter in the Circle at Ferelden. You truly mean to say she left a full account of her teachings?"

"Yes," Althaea said. I'll neglect to mention that almost all of them are now the property of the Chantry, but he doesn't know that. "Most of them are written in the common tongue, but some of the more...abstract concepts she proposed had to be written in Tevene. She hadn't the proper vocabulary, you see." And the Templars all seem to have a copy of the Litany, at least in Kirkwall these days.

"Fascinating!"

Dinner continued, an array of complicated dishes served in tiny bites; Ramona had clearly pulled out all the stops for the evening's meal. They made small talk, and Althaea was careful not to reveal too much that she might forget later; though more and more, she had the feeling that the Phoebus in front of her was just the same as he'd always been: a little flighty, but extremely intelligent.

"How is it like, living in the Circle? I hear it's a terrible place for mages. Are you treated any better?"

"Yes, I am, though things are not so bad in Ferelden as they are in say, Orlais, or the Free Marches where the apprentices are kept leashed, like dogs."

"And the weather? I hear it's dreadfully cold."

"Funny, I feel it's dreadfully warm here." Now's my chance. "Though I suppose it's better than the alternative; in the wintertime we have a bit of a...rodent...problem."

Phoebus was clearly confused by the statement. "Rodents?"

"Mmm, yes," she said, as she had a sip of her dessert wine, "Squirrels and rabbits, mainly."

A bit of suspicion began to dawn in his face; Althaea latched on to it as tightly as she could. "Though I simply can't bear to give you all the details; they can be quite messy."

"Well, I know that dinner is done and you have plenty of work to do, but I'd love to continue this conversation in my quarters. You're aware I am a guest of the esteemed Magister, are you not?"

"I am," he said, "And yes, I should be happy to, but I'll not badger you for permission to do so."

"It's no trouble, really," she said. "Unless the Magister minds, that is."

"No trouble at all," said Mae. "I do have some matters I can attend to, even at this hour, and it seems you have struck up quite the rapport!"

Althaea got up and handed her napkin to Samara, who curtsied and winked. "Lovely! Please, come with me."