OF MAGIC AND MEN
The next morning, Fenris was awakened by exquisite pleasure being milked from his flesh. He gasped awake, eyelids lifting to honey-colored eyes and a bright smile.
"Maker... oh, Maker... that's good..." he gasped out. The mage's hand was sliding along his shaft, grip tight, so slippery, so smooth. He'd never felt anything remotely like it.
"That's what the lubricant is for. It's even better on the inside."
Fenris couldn't answer. He was lost in the pleasure. He felt Anders' mouth cover his own, lips pulling at his. "I want you inside me, Fenris."
Fenris pulled his wits to him as best he could. "No... I won't hurt you."
"You're right, you won't. The scarring in our both our arses has healed. We have this fabulous lubricant. And, I want you. I want you, so much. I want to reclaim our right of choice. Only if you want. We don't have to. But, I'd like to."
Fenris tried to think, but he was failing. The unbelievable ecstasy of Anders' hand sliding along his slick flesh was wonderfully distracting. He'd never penetrated Anders without being compelled by a lust potion. It had always hurt him. Although... once, when they'd had time to prepare themselves... If Anders wanted this, he was willing to learn how.
He managed to croak, "If you hurt, even for an instant..."
Anders grinned hugely. "I won't, don't worry. I've been prepping myself since I started touching you. I'm beyond ready..."
Anders was right. The mage felt no pain. His welcoming moan was ecstatic. If Anders' slippery hand had been a revelation, his lubricated body was an epiphany. Fenris' senses overloaded, his eyes falling closed to ground at least one of them.
As he began to move within the mage, moans pulled from his chest. Anders was everywhere; under him, around him, his taste on his tongue, his scent in his nose, his sweet voice in his ears. So hot, so tight, so utterly responsive. This... this... was bliss.
He knew he'd found Anders' sweet spot, when the mage arched off the bed, a throaty shout echoing in the chamber. Fenris opened his eyes to see the mage under him. Anders was shuddering, his face awash in pleasure, gasping for air. He was beautiful. Fenris' heart stuttered at the sight. He was giving Anders this pleasure. Maker preserve him, he was going to spend himself just looking at him.
He let his body find its rhythm, matching Anders' own. Each stroke sent unimagined pleasures racing to his entire body. His breath struggled, each exhalation a desperate groan. How could anything feel so sublime? He felt the mage writhe under him, his moans wanton.
Anders' voice was calling his name, "Fenris! Fenris... don't stop..."
The elf didn't stop. His hips thrust with abandon, hard, fast, deep. Oh... his body was tingling, tight heat coiling in his belly. He felt Anders under him... the mage was undone. He slammed himself against the elf's every thrust. Fenris dropped his head to Anders' shoulder, arms sliding to cup the mage's head in his palms as they strove together to find completion.
Fenris felt his end approaching. Oh... the pleasure... the ecstasy... oh, Anders... "Anders... come with me...together... yes..."
Anders clutched him, tightly, "... oh, love...
When he spasmed about the elf's flesh, Fenris convulsed, unbearable ecstasy taking him.
He came-to wrapped in tight embrace, Anders weeping into his neck. He lifted his head to see the mage, and was pulled into a hot, desperate kiss. "Anders, what is it?" he asked when his lips were released.
Anders' face was wet, glowing, smiling. "I'm just happy."
Fenris smiled in return, and buried his mouth in the mage's neck. He tasted salt, heat, Anders. His Anders. He felt the collar nudge his cheek. With luck, it would soon be gone. He wondered if Anders would taste different when his magic again flowed freely through him.
Dorian and Eve joined them at their table for breakfast. Fenris and Anders still shared one table setting. First, it was habit, as well as being unable to both eat a full serving. Then, it became a means of each ensuring the other ate what they should. Now, they simply preferred it. It was a very basic sense of providing for each other.
Anders felt much more at ease regarding the magicologist's visit. Fenris was in decent spirits, as well, given the wake-up-call they had shared.
"Fenris, have you thought about having the magicologist look at your lyrium lines?" Eve asked.
"No."
"Are they too painful?"
"No." His mood soured. He didn't want to talk about his lyrium. He wanted to talk about Anders getting his magic back.
Eve pressed, concerned. "What is it?"
He scowled at their plate. He didn't want his lyrium back. He'd rather Danarius had removed it from him entirely. "I don't want it activated."
Anders turned to him. "Why not?"
"It was no joy to have, Anders. It was painful, and..." he sighed. No reason to hide it. "... it marks me as his creation. His greatest achievement. I do not wish to be his anything."
"It gave you profound abilities, did it not?" Dorian asked.
"It did," Anders answered. "Fenris, it makes you unique, powerful."
"It makes me a freak. Besides, if you cannot regain your magic, I don't want to have any damnable powers."
"Fenris," Anders soothed.
"I won't be a legacy to an evil monster's insane vision."
Anders stroked a gentle hand into the elf's hair. "You're not. You never will be. You'll be a legacy to yourself. I want you to be able to protect yourself. And, if I can't get my magic back, I'll need all the protection I can get. Right now, we're both sitting ducks."
He knew the mage was right. He sighed in defeat. "Fine."
The magical specialist was Lord Somebody from House Something-or-Other. Fenris was glad he followed-up his introduction with, "Call me Mervus."
Mervus was an elderly, portly mage. He had the ragged look of a wealthy man who had more important things to do than bother with his wardrobe.
He was much more interested in the state of Anders' magic and collar than in the reason behind his wearing it. With Fenris acting as his voice, Anders answered Mervus' questions. He was fascinated with the idea of Justice, and spellbound by the description of their joining and time together.
He examined the collar around Anders' neck in minute detail. He referred to various large, ancient tomes, copying the runes etched on it. He prodded the gems and metals with a variety of tools, and examined Anders' skin surrounding it. He sent tendrils of his own magic into Anders, feeling for the magic within, the mana, the signature of the collar.
Then, he asked about the potion that had been given to destroy Justice. Either Dorian had forewarned him, or he was naturally empathetic, but he was kind in his questions, and didn't seem bothered by Fenris speaking for the mage.
"Yes, I'm sure it was Spiritu Dispus. It's ancient, and very few know of it. Well, very few have a use for it. Most abominations won't sit still to drink a potion. According to historical writings, it was fairly innocuous. If you'd not been wearing the collar, the Spirit would have simply been released from your mortal form, and then chased back into the Fade. You'd have had gastric upset, as you described, but that would have been all."
"What happened to Anders, then? I thought it was killing him," Fenris asked.
"The collar disrupts the connection between the mage and the Fade. When the Spiritu Dispus was taken, the Spirit couldn't leave. The potion is like a spiritual corrosive, so to speak. Which is why spirits leave the host when it is taken. I cannot imagine the Spirit survived it. With no access to the Fade, I would liken it to the Spirit being locked in a burning house. I can't imagine the pain that you, and this Justice, both experienced."
Anders nodded, face downcast. He pulled Fenris' hand into his lap and gripped it tightly.
"The killing of the Spirit still encased within you damaged your soul. Not entirely irreparably, but badly enough to need to heal before you could function again. Which was why you became unresponsive after the Spirit's destruction. Rather like a bad concussion, but instead of a brain injury..."
"A soul injury," Eve filled-in.
"Precisely." He turned to Anders. "You may always have symptoms or deficits of some kind."
Fenris looked softly at the mage next to him. "He does."
Mervus nodded. "I am sorry. This Justice sounded like a remarkable being."
Anders looked up, surprised. Fenris realized it was likely the only eulogy the Spirit would get.
"Now, the collar. It's very old. Probably handed down through Magister Danarius' family for generations. It's effective, obviously, though crude in its way. Rather like using a trebuchet when a hammer will do.
"Your magic is still quite active. You're clearly powerful, the surge is strong. Your mana reserve is nearly overflowing, really. I anticipate that you will have your full powers when the collar is off."
Anders was suddenly tense, sitting on the edge of his chair.
"I can remove it, but we'll need to be in a large area where nothing or no one can be hurt. You'll likely have a strong flood of accidental, overflow magic. A storm, is more like it. Your power-set included electricity, fire and Spirit Healing?"
Fenris answered. "Mostly. With a few odds and ends."
"Dorian, do you have a non-flammable space we can utilize?"
"The ballroom is marble and malleable metals."
"Perfect. The four of us can remain behind a shield while Anders clears his magical system."
Anders held Fenris' hand in a crushing grip as they all moved to the ballroom. Mervus cast a dome-shield at one of the room, and moved Anders to stand at the other.
Fenris stood behind the shield with Dorian and Eve, fidgeting. He didn't care for the distance between he and Anders, but he at least had him in sight. Mervus had cast a personal shield over Anders. It would keep his magical energy in place while the collar was removed and Mervus moved to the safety of the dome shield. He was picking the lock on the collar while Anders stood anxiously, eyes fixed on the elf across the room.
The mage was startled when the collar clicked open, and then Mervus casually removed it. Anders raised his hand, feeling the skin where the collar had been for so long. Mervus turned and walked quickly to the others. With a gesture, he dispelled the shield about Anders. For a split second, Anders simply stood, his hand at his neck. Then, he erupted.
His body and limbs pulled rigidly straight, as waves of energy exploded from him, obscuring his form. Colorless, at first, the waves shimmered like heat over a desert. Roiling away from Anders, they slammed into the shield and walls of the room, clashing like thunder. Soon, purples and blues of electrical power shot through the air, joined quickly by red-orange flame, swirling in a maelstrom of heat and energy. As the initial fury of it wore off, Anders became visible again.
He stood with arms outstretched, head back, basking in the energy that swirled and pulsed around him. Fenris thought he looked as he did in the throes of passion. He heard the mage's voice, then. He was laughing... full-throated laughter was shaking his chest and joining in the roar of power filling the room. Fenris grinned. His Anders was happier than he'd ever seen him, since the moment they met in Kirkwall. He felt Dorian's hand clap his shoulder, saw him lift a hand to wipe suspicious moisture from his eyes. Eve was hanging on Dorian, her face filled with wonder at the spectacle of magic playing out before them.
Anders lifted his head and his eyes met with Fenris'. He held his arms toward him, and beckoned. Without hesitation, Fenris ran through the shield and into the storm. A path was shielded for him by Anders, parting the tumult. He flew to Anders, and took the mage's hands, grinning into Anders' smiling face. The mage pulled his hands free, cupped the elf's face, then slid his hands down to the lyrium lines on Fenris' arms. Anders' hands lit with blue healing energy, and Fenris felt it pouring along the markings. They sizzled, and itched, and finally, burned. It was painful, but he gritted his teeth to bear it out, knowing Anders wouldn't hurt him unnecessarily.
He was right. In a moment, the burn receded, and a delightful tingle began in its place. The lines flared brightly, easily shining through the material of his clothing, along his arms and neck. Anders entire body flashed blue in response to Fenris' lyrium, and they bathed the room in the light from their respective powers.
The storm had receded. The blue-white of the pair's energy slowly died back, and they fell into embrace. Fenris burrowed into the mage, his lyrium humming pleasantly, in a way it never had. He could feel the buzz of magic under Anders' skin, and pressed his mouth against his throat. Yes, he could taste it, just barely there, under the taste of his skin. Soft, clean; like the purity of flame, like the air after a storm, like the relief of pain.
He felt Anders mouthing along the lines running down the side of his neck. "Oh... tasting you is like getting a lyrium-high," he moaned. Fenris laughed.
"They don't hurt, like they did, before."
"No... they had a lot of ugly magic in them, Fenris. I cleaned them. They're yours, now."
"Justice?"
Anders shook his head. His expression briefly fell to melancholy. Then, he was stroking his hands into the elf's hair, gazing at him with wonder.
Fenris pulled the mage into a heady kiss, feeling lighter and more whole than he had in... ever.
The others in the room were approaching, laughing, talking, clapping them both on the back. Anders shied from it, moving behind Fenris, still smiling.
Mervus was talking to Anders, now. "Your magic is a bit out of shape, as it were. You'll need to practice with it, get back in control. It shouldn't be hard... given what you did with those markings, already."
Fenris spoke. "We can never thank you enough."
Mervus was humble in his response. He asked if he might correspond with Anders about his experiences with Justice, both before and after he'd joined with the Spirit. He was thinking of publishing a study of non-demonic Fade spirit possessions. Anders shrugged. He was happy with the prospect. He felt it appropriate that Justice somehow be remembered.
Dorian invited Mervus to stay for lunch, but he had an appointment to keep, and was on his way.
Dorian beamed at Anders. "Maker's breath. I can't recall the last time I was brought to such an emotional state. Watching a man be reunited with his magic after so long... it was more moving than any trite love story."
"I seem to recall an emotional state after you bade farewell to Bull, Dorian." Eve was inspecting Fenris' skin around the markings. It had always had just a bare touch of discoloration to it, but that was gone, now. When she stroked fingers along the lines, they didn't hurt. Fenris was truly overjoyed.
"You saw no such thing. The lug simply cracked a rib with his enthusiastic embrace."
"Mm-hm."
Lunch was joyful. Dorian was outlining practice ideas with Anders, the mage quietly nodding and answering. Fenris was famished, and eating into Anders' share of the plate. He watched as Anders casually lit a flame in the palm of his hand, then flicked it with his fingers, sending tiny sparks of light to float near the ceiling. The mage's attention remained on Dorian.
Fenris turned to Eve. "What's with the lights?"
She smirked. "It's one of the first spells magelings are taught. It's a way to drain excess magical energy, without setting anything on fire, or sending lightning through brass furnishings." She shook her head with a chuckle. "I nearly fried my mother's lap dog, that way. Anders still has some erratic energy around the edges. He's taking care of it."
He nodded. The lights were pretty. Prettier because Anders made them. He posed Eve another question.
"What was that about Dorian and Bull? I assume you meant The Iron Bull you've mentioned?" The idea of a Tevinter and a Qunari Ben-hassrath was startling.
Eve laughed. "Dorian hasn't ever brought it up? Dorian, are you ashamed of your qunari lover?"
Dorian scowled elegantly. "I have no shame, as you well know. What I do have is discretion. Just because Bull was happy to share our private life all over Skyhold, doesn't mean I am."
"You... and a qunari?" Anders asked. "Wouldn't that be...?"
"Unwise? Unlikely? Unbelievable?" Dorian supplied.
"Uncomfortable?" Anders finished.
Dorian laughed. "Well, it all depends on one's motivation, I suppose. Proper preparation is key. The Qunari motto is, after all, 'Be Prepared'."
Eve laughed. "I got the impression Bull was always prepared. For anyone." "Well, I can't fault him for prudishness, at least. Cullen, on the other hand..." "Why do you go there, every time? Cullen was not a prude. He was a gentleman."
"He blushed like a Chantry sister."
"I thought you found that charming."
"I did. Then, you found him overly solicitous. In solidarity, I found him priggish."
"Dorian, you're a true friend."
"Knight Captain Cullen?" Anders and Fenris exclaimed in sync.
Eve was confused. "Uh... yes. Why... oh, Maker's mercy. Did you know him in Kirkwall?"
"Slightly. We had a few interactions," Fenris replied.
"I knew him in Kinloch Hold, for a bit, too," Anders offered. "I can't believe you were in a relationship with a templar. Cullen hated mages."
"He doesn't hate mages," Eve insisted.
"He said, 'Mages cannot be treated like people'. Right in front of me."
Fenris reminded him, "You were standing right in front of him, and he didn't arrest you. He couldn't have hated mages that much."
"He went through a lot of changes after Meredith lost her mind."
Anders turned to Fenris. "I told you she was howling at the bloody moon."
Eve told the story she had heard from both Cullen and Varric. About Orsino and Meredith finally coming to a head, and the call for an Annulment. About Hawke standing with Meredith against the mages, until her madness turned against him.
"Of course he stood against the mages," Anders sighed. "I really hate him."
Eve had been surprised all through the meal by Anders' volubility. Getting his magic back seemed to have boosted his confidence. Regardless, the gentle mage making a statement of hatred was unexpected. "He's dead, you know."
Both Fenris and Anders' heads shot up. "Dead?"
She nodded. "When we were escaping the Nightmare Demon in the Fade. I had to leave someone behind, to cover our escape. It was Hawke."
Both men stared at her for a moment. Then, they turned and stared at each other. They moved into each other's arms, finally. Both were shaking, breath coming unevenly.
Fenris wasn't sure what he was feeling. Once given back to Danarius, the elf would have happily killed Hawke, if he'd had the chance. Yet, Hawke, until he'd inexplicably turned him over to the magister, had been his friend. His first friend. He'd taught him to read, helped him fight the slavers and Hadriana, treated him with respect. Learning that he was dead... was not the joyful moment he'd anticipated.
Anders was pulling away. He looked desolate and confused. "He was once a good friend," the mage said. Fenris nodded.
Eve spoke, quietly. "Varric told me that Hawke started to become erratic after his mother was murdered. You know Varric, he'll overlook most people's failings. But, Hawke just got worse, especially after he let Danarius take you. When he came to Skyhold, there was a strain between he and Varric. Hawke wasn't quite right, that much was clear. But, I didn't leave him in the Fade because of that."
Anders pressed. "Why did Varric let us go? Why didn't he help us? Why didn't any of them? In all of the stories that he tells, did he reveal that little bit of intrigue?"
"I'm sorry, Anders, he didn't. He didn't talk about it much, to tell the truth. It seemed to hurt him."
Anders' face was filled with disbelief. "Hurt him? I could tell him a few stories about pain..."
Fenris pulled the mage to him. "Anders, don't take it out on Eve." Anders was hiding his face in Fenris' shoulder. The elf looked at Dorian and Eve. "Maybe..."
Dorian stood. "Say no more. We'll all talk, later." They left Anders and Fenris alone in their room. He rocked the mage in his arms. "It's alright, Anders..."
Anders' muffled voice spoke. "No. No. No. No. No! No! It isn't alright! It was never alright, and it won't ever be alright!" He pulled out of Fenris' embrace and paced the floor.
"None of what happened to us was alright!" His voice was raised, angry. "How can you say it's alright? Those people were our friends. They were supposed to be our comrades. They watched Hawke hand us over to that sick fuck, and didn't bother to lift a hand. Danarius contained Justice and I, both, the minute Hawke offered us up. I was dragged kicking through the door; and they all stood there and watched us go! It isn't alright!" Small wisps of flame flickered into existence around him as he railed. Tiny sparks flung from his fingers as he gestured.
"And, now I hear the man who did it is dead, and what do I feel? I feel badly because he was a friend once! Could I be anymore pathetic? His friendship didn't amount to nugshit when a nightmare in the shape of a magister came knocking, did it?
"Why do I grieve that he's dead, when we both suffered for four fucking years because of what he did? I can't get any more pathetic." His anger was blowing out, leaving him drained. The little bits of accidental magic faded.
Fenris spoke softly. "You're not pathetic. You care. It's what you do. It's who you are. I wouldn't have you any other way."
Anders collapsed on the couch. He sat limply, then covered his face with his hands, and rubbed his eyes. Finally, he drew a shuddering breath. "Hawke was sick. Leandra's death was more than he could cope with. The way she died changed him. He'd lost everyone in his family. He finally lost himself."
"Is that what you believe happened?"
"It's what I'm going to believe. Because, I need to."
tbc...
Author's Note:
OK, knowing there are folks who will rebel against my head-canon, I create it from loosely applied game facts:
The Spiritu Dispus potion is of my own making. In-game, both Dorian and Fenris make comments as to Tevinter mages conjuring demons and abominations frequently. If anyone could create a potion to separate a spirit from a host, it would be a Tevinter. I imagine it was lost to most memories due to so few abominations being willing to sit and drink the stuff. Abominations can be that way.
Also, as abominations and demons are a common part of certain magisters' activities, being able to contain one, to some extent, is also likely a commonplace technique. (as my story-Anders says Danarius did in the Hanged Man). Sorta like southern templars silencing or draining mages. Sorta.