Before he even had time to assess that he was awake he was already being forced into acknowledging the pain that shot from temple to temple in his head like lightening. He winced and rolled from his side to his stomach, trying to push the headache from his head into the pillow. As he moved he faintly recognized a queasy feeling beginning somewhere in his midsection.
Slowly the sharp pain subsided into a dull ache and he risked turning his head sideways and opening his eye a crack. When nothing bad happened he opened them all the way, his vision filling with red silk sheets and dusty furniture. He blinked, confused. Where the void-catching site of the table and the rest of the rooms furnishings it clicked into place. Ah yes, Fenris' room, where is he?
Slowly he rose to his hands and knees, the blankets falling off of him. He shivered at the chill that swept across his back and winced as he felt a sharp ache above his eye. Raising a hand to the spot he rubbed it, as though he was massaging his brain and it would stop hurting. It didn't.
He did not remember getting home, he barely remembered returning and finding his room was a mess, he definitely didn't remember actually leaving the mansion the day before. That was the point in drinking that much though, wasn't it? He had to give himself that one, he wanted to forget, and he did a damned good job of it.
He sat on the bed, folding his legs under him and after contemplating the pillows he pulled one towards him and hid his face in it. Groaning he swore to never get drunk, ever again. Ever. His limbs were shaky, his head hurt, his mouth felt fuzzy and he felt like his stomach was a bowl of water balanced on the end of a staff, if he moved too much the bowl would fall over and he would get sick all over the place. I don't think Fenris would appreciate that, he thought to himself.
Pouting he sat up straight, wincing as his eyes reintroduced themselves to the light. He was reaching forward and searching under the pillows and blankets for his shirt when Fenris walked in.
Fenris, having not gone back to sleep the night before, had done his training exercises in the main hall before heading out for a short walk. As he was heading back to the mansion he stopped at a few places and picked up some breakfast. Despite his uneasiness at the foreign but thoughtful mood he was in, he picked some up for Nero as well. He had the sneaking suspicion that the man wasn't going to be feeling well this morning and felt the urge to at least try to ease his hangover.
And so, he was standing in the doorway with a bag in one arm and a pitcher of water in the other, watching as Nero searched for his shirt. He felt the oddest stirring of...something...in his groin as the muscles twitched and moved across Nero's broad shoulders and back. Broad for an elf that is. The feeling was similar to how Fenris sometimes felt when he was with Hawke, but he also found that it wasn't the same at all.
Scowling he forced the thought and feeling from his mind and placed the bag and water on the table at the same time that Nero grabbed his shirt from the floor and slipped it on. Nero swung his legs over the bed, his toes skimming the floor.
"I'm not sure what the proper etiquette is when one wakes up in another man's bed." Nero said, with a slight blush on his cheeks, "so, ah, thank you for your hospitality." with that he stood, and in a flash the blush was gone and his face blanched white. He leaned against the bed-post with his arm wrapped around his stomach, bending over slightly.
Despite himself Fenris chuckled and motioned to the table, "despite what you may believe, you will feel better if you eat something."
"I don't believe you," Nero grumbled as he stumbled toward the table and gently plopped himself into a chair. "in fact, I am sure that this is some sort of demented plan of yours to kill me and get the mansion to yourself again."
"Hardly, you did this to yourself." Fenris replied as he sat down on the opposite side of the table and took some items from the bag, passing them across the table to Nero. When all Nero did to respond was scowl at the food before him, and wrap his arm tighter around himself Fenris sighed and pushed the water towards him. "Drink at least, most of the reason you feel so bad right now is because you are dehydrated."
Nero reached for the pitcher and after realizing there were no glasses around he drank right from it. He was surprised to find that he really was quite thirsty and he had to pace himself so that he wouldn't drown. When he finally put the pitcher back down on the table he found that Fenris was watching him with a cocked eyebrow and had frozen mid-chew on a piece of roast.
Sheepishly Nero looked away, "thank you... for the water I mean...and everything else."
Fenris grunted in reply and then an uncomfortable silence fell upon them. Nero was eating painfully slow and every few minutes Fenris could see the other man glance up at him with an expression of confusion before quickly looking away. He kept himself distracted by finishing his breakfast and ignoring that he felt unsure of himself around the other man. Not since he had left Denarius had he felt this unsure of himself, and for the life of him he could not figure out why.
The fire crackled and popped occasionally, but even this did not penetrate the silence. Fenris scowled, he was a man of few words but right now he felt a great need to speak. He needed to say something and the thing that kept pushing to the forefront of his mind was asking how the other man felt, or what happened the day before. He found himself wanting to know about his experience as a slave, he wanted to know how to differed from his. He wanted to offer something, anything to stop the pain Nero so obviously still felt from it.
Fenris did not like these thoughts, the last time he had experienced anything similar was when he was a slave and he often worried about his master's mood and well-being. He used to wish for his master's health and happiness constantly. Denarius had always been a far gentler person when he was happy, and when he wasn't then Fenris suffered.
Fenris sighed quietly, and stared blankly into the dying fire. Memories of the torments Denarius would inflict upon him going through his head. There was no doubt that Nero's experience in Tevinter was terrible, but Fenris could not imagine it being on par with Denarius' abuses. The man was twisted and vile, corrupt and power-hungry. Fenris had been in many estates and had been in the presence of many magisters while he was enslaved, and he had not had opportunity to meet any that were quite as cruel as Denarius. No, Nero could not possibly have had it as bad as Fenris had. Of this Fenris was sure. How could Nero smile so easily or be so carefree if he had?
And so Fenris stepped out of his comfort zone and took it upon himself to speak first.
"Have you ever been to Seheron?" he asked. Nero started and looked up from his food before shaking his head. As Fenris spoke he poked at the fire, so he did not have to see the pity that he was sure would grace Nero's features as he told him stories of his life in Tevinter, and how he had escaped his master. If he had been looking he might have been surprised to see the acceptance and understanding that were there instead
...
It was late in the afternoon when Nero excused himself from Fenris' room and decided he should face the daunting task of cleaning his now destroyed room. As Fenris had regaled him with stories of his enslavement a memory nagged at him. But he could not quite recall what it was and so he did not tell the elf about it. Instead he listened, wondering the entire time if Fenris was suddenly so open with him because he realized that Nero was most likely to understand what he remembered of his life or if something had happened the previous night that Nero could not remember. He hoped it was the former, he did not relish the thought of forgetting something that would break through that tough exterior.
Despite the grim nature of the story Nero found himself enjoying himself. Fenris' voice was captivating, it was almost surprising that the elf dint have gangs of women begging him to take them away. When he said as much Fenris seemed so utterly appalled at the idea that Nero couldn't stop himself from laughing, even as he stood in the doorway of his room he chuckled at the memory. It was extremely difficult not to be attracted to the man, it still amazed Nero that Fenris seemed so unaware of his own sex appeal. He still wasn't sure if he was glad or disappointed he didn't try to get the elf in his arms the night before, but then for all he knew he had tried.
Nero sighed and began to drag the broken chairs into the hallway, probably only to be tossed into an empty room later on. During the morning Nero had repeatedly found himself thanking Andraste that Fenris did not ask questions or try to dig into his past. Fenris may not have been free for much longer than Nero was, but he was definitely a lot more open about it. He did not try to hide that he had once been a slave, instead he wore it almost like a badge; proof that he earned every free breath he took. Nero was not so proud, Fenris openly taunted the idea of slavers or his master trying to claim him, Nero preferred to hide the nature of his origin. Both because he was not human nor elf, and because he was a slave. Nero had to continually remind himself that neither Fenris nor Isabela nor any of the others had any wish to turn him over to slavers. He had a price on his head, a large sum of money in reward for his return to the Archon of the Imperium. Dead or alive.
And yet Nero found himself sharing some details of his enslavement with others, ones he deemed minor. When he spoke about his life at times it felt like he couldn't stop, like each word he spoke took some of the torment from the memory. Even so, he was ashamed, he did not necessarily want the others to know what he had been used for, and he did not tell Isabela that he had been less than a whore because he trusted her to keep it to herself. Rather the opposite in fact, he was sure that she would tell the others and then they would know and he wouldn't need to feel guilt for lying to them nor would he have to tell them and see any disgust it may bring forth in them.
He dealt with his past the only way he knew how, by ignoring the brutal details and begrudgingly accepting the rest. The night before had not been the first time something had triggered a memory he had shoved away, and it surely would not be the last. A part of him knew that if he could tell somebody about it, somebody he knew wouldn't think less of him for it, that it wouldn't be so bad. But how did he trust somebody that much, how could he expect anyone to not change their opinion of him when they found out what he had done and what had been done to him? Nero shook his head and forced his thoughts in another direction.
Fenris spoke of things that Nero was sure weren't easy to speak about. He did not go into detail but the elf had hinted at some torments and punishments that he had gone through at the word of his former master that almost reminded Nero of his own experiences. Fenris had been very open, almost as though he had forgotten Nero was there as he stared blankly at the fireplace.
There had always been a noticeable difference between how Fenris acted in a group or out in public and how he acted one on one. He always seemed to speak easier when there weren't so many people around, even if he still didn't speak much. He was not as suspicious nor as tense. Nero would almost say there were times when the elf seemed sort of happy when they were alone in the mansion.
A small smile crept on Nero's face at this thought. He was half-asleep, and still feeling a little ill when he decided it was far past time to find another bed and pass out in it for the rest of the day. He found a decent bed in a room a few doors down from his own and, flipping over the pillow, he lay down on top of the blankets and promptly fell asleep.