dumbshow | highly new, slightly improved open post

highly new, slightly improved open post

assorted morons

optional prompts/ideas

☆ caught in the rain meme
☆ little steps meme
☆ affectionate physical contact meme
☆ picture prompt also acceptable but link them so it's tidy
☆ AU ideas: soulmates AU, reincarnation AU, Bad End AU, canon divergent/roleswap AU, dorky college AU, crossover AU, super indulgent high fantasy AU
☆ melodrama is ultimate tier
★ SHIPPING AND FUCC:
☆ non-fluffy relationship types I'm down for: codependent, master/servant power imbalance type ships, "we're bad for each other but worse for anyone else," other things I am failing to think of tbh
☆ things I am not into: noncon (includes "dubcon"), incest, tsundere shit if your tsundere is just verbally abusive, gratuitous torture porn, you'll probably have to ask me about harder kinks and they will vary by character
☆ I don't have a kink list so pitch me an idea if u thirsty
☆ if you would prefer a locked post I can also make that happen

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Was?

[Nope, they're still doing this! But he'll compromise, at least setting off in the right direction. Isn't this better than sullen silence?]

[No, this is much worse, he wants to go back to the wagon and kick some corpses.]

When I agreed to the— merging. Not a demon, because I don't deal with demons. [Clearly, it bears repeating.] I know it doesn't matter to you.

[An abomination is an abomination, that's a fact. It doesn't matter to him. And yet--]

How did you know the difference between spirit and demon?

[And yet he asks anyway, because now he ought to know. Because sooner or later, he'll have to deal with that aspect of magic, too, and he shouldn't go in blind. Certainly that's the only reason; it's nothing to do with Anders in the least.]

They look different.

[It's actually quite convenient, demons being so wholly ugly and spirits just being kind of glowy people. He is not, ahem, an expert, so this is the best he can do...]

You've seen demons. You'd be able to tell.

That's it?

[He'd thought there'd be something a bit more complex than that, good god.]

I don't know if that lowers or raises my opinions of mages.

[Wow! Don't give him shit for the easiest solution!]

I didn't realize your opinion could change.

[He can and will, thank you.]

I am not incapable of it.

[He says, grudgingly, in face of all known evidence.]

Can you truly imagine the two of us making a trip like this ten years ago? At the very least, you must have noticed that.

[Hmm, that is a point, but is it enough for Anders, this very minute, while he's getting a head start on the sullen thing? Hmm.]

To be fair, you weren't going to give me a choice, were you?

[You know, back in the woods, etc. Which makes him think, and so at last he must ask:]

Why me, if you're so afraid of what I might do? Merrill would have been easier to find.

You aren't a blood mage.

[He says it curtly. There's something he'll literally never change his mind on.]

And I knew there was no risk of you offering me cloying pity in the guise of empathy.

[the one thing they agree on]

She is a little difficult to stomach after a while, isn't she?

[Full offense, Merrill, wherever you are. Blood magic: no excuses.]

I've never pitied you.

I'm aware. It's one of your few charms.

[It really is, honestly. He'd been braced for mockery and scorn-- honestly, he's still braced for that, half-expecting Anders to eagerly leap on the chance to grind salt in the wound. But never pity. He's not so damp as that.]

Never mind the fact I wasn't eager to spend even more time back in Kirkwall.

[He'll find something to scorn later, he's sure. If he must pick between two radically different views of magic, derisive fear is somehow still more palatable than idiotic blood magic demon summoning—

He probably shouldn't have wandered this close to Tevinter, he's realizing. Ah, well.]

I don't think I'm legally allowed in Kirkwall anymore. [which, fair, so anyway--] So here we are.

You think.

[Please. But yes, here they are, and while it's far from ideal, it's . . . hm. Less painful than he'd steeled himself for. Anders is less in-your-face about mage rights and mage persecution and mage mage mage (to borrow one of his ticks), and that makes it easier. Perhaps that's awful to think, given how tired Anders seems-- but on the other hand, Fenris is tired too. Perhaps they all are, after Kirkwall, and maybe that makes it easier. A petty fight takes a little too much sometimes.

They go a little further, but it's not too long before he's prodding tentatively at his arm.]

It's bleeding again . . .

[Maybe. Maybe it's because he's prodding at it, who can say, but either way: it hurts, damn.]

Maybe they hung my picture up at the Hanged Man. You don't know.

[Ha— but maybe they earnestly did, maybe he wouldn't even be welcomed by the people in Darktown anymore. Even the escaped Circle mages had insisted he set out on his own eventually, so, you know. It's been one thing after another until he settled not so comfortably into wandering homelessness.

At least they saved some mages today, as much as confused elves who acquired magic not even weeks ago are mages. That counts for something.

Anyway, Maker--]

Stop touching it, why don't you? [sigh!] Let me see it again.

[He's going to run out of magic entirely because some people can't resist picking at scabs.]

I wouldn't touch it if it was healed properly.

[Grumbled out, ignoring the absolutely valid and vital fact that Anders has burnt through quite a bit of magic today. Still, he's yanking up his sleeve properly, nudging armor out of the way.

But ah--]

Here.

[He was saving this for camp, so he could offer it and hten dramatically retire to his bedroll, but here: the most miniature bottle of lyrium ever. Pocket-sized, for his convenience.]

From the wagon.

[Of all the unexpected gestures, Fenris handing him a vial of lyrium is so unexpected it didn't even make the list. What is this? Who is this and what happened to Fenris?

Anders does take it, make no mistake, but he doesn't at all hide the extreme disbelief he feels over it. Whomst...]

You— you're really handing me a shot of lyrium like it's nothing. Are you going to run me through the second I pop the cork?

[Is this a test? Harrowing.......2!!: Fenris edition??]

Shut up and say thank you.

[He scowls at him. Is nothing easy?]

I'm not unaware of the toll today took. There was no need for you to heal those we rescued, but you did. And for that, I am grateful.

Take it. I'm not putting up with you whining about how exhausted you are all night.

You brought me along to help!

[Is healing not helping! Why would he not heal them!! Whatever, he's got the thing, but he's not going to tip it back in one go just yet. Frankly, he hasn't gotten his hands on any lyrium in ages, and if the Veil is having some kind of... episode, who knows if he's in for an actual second Harrowing if he isn't careful--

But that's nobody's business but his own, because Fenris will be dramatic about it, so he simply sighs and nudges Fenris' injured arm up, setting the same healing spell as before to the injury and frowning.]

Don't pick at it all night and I won't have to say a word.

[Including thank you, which he has still not said, but whatever. He can make only so many concessions in a single day.]

Heal it better and I won't either.

[How long can a conversation go on before one of them allows the other the last word? It doesn't matter. He's scowling fiercely in another direction, glaring at the horizon as though it's personally offended him. Impatiently, he shoves up his sleeve again.

And look, is this the pettiest point ever? Yes. Should he let it lie? Also yes. However, it's either speak or ruminate on his thoughts, and fuck that.]

Are you really not going to say thank you?

[He's not offended. He's mostly just picking a fight just to talk, honestly.]

I'm trying to concentrate, if you don't mind.

[So no, he's not, shut up. They can both be big, stupid children over this; that's a dynamic Anders is accustomed to, whatever unflattering truth that says about the two of them. Whatever.

Still, staring at injuries in grumpy silence is... very boring... He will make a different concession: having a conversation, just not one thanking Fenris for generously looting a body after he told Anders they wouldn't have anything useful on them. Prick.]

Now what's next? Are you going to check up on those elves?

[This is, admittedly, a far better topic of conversation. Perhaps someday they'll develop to a point where he can say so.]

Not personally, no.

But the place I sent them will have food and shelter, and give them a few days to decide what they wish to do next. I imagine most won't wish to return home, in which case they'll direct them either to the nearest city or Dalish encampment.

[A beat, and then he amends:]

Mage friendly Dalish encampment.

[Which means he needs to either suffer through the painstaking process of writing a letter or hiring someone to do so, just to be sure the woman running the safehouse (which is a barn, really, but a pleasant one) knows. Damn.]

They rarely wish to be reminded of their narrow escape. I doubt they'd wish to see my face again.

[Shirallas had written to them sometimes, but then he'd gone and gotten himself enslaved and driven-- mm, not mad, but delusional. So. It's just him, now.]

Oh.

[Mm, and there's a pang of familiarity again; to become the grim reminder of hardship. The Kirkwall mages had been, ah, quite clear that they resented Anders' hand in making them live out their lives as fugitives, and so he'd gone. The elves would rather not remember their time in captivity, and so Fenris disappears.

Great choice of topic, Anders. Really killing it out here.]

And in the meantime you, what... lurk in taverns? Until someone whispers in your ear about another wagon?

[He does want to know, actually, because that's a lot of time to be shut up in a room not allowed outside, if he's going to stick around and teach more magic.]

Going to switch careers?

[He make little joke. Fenris shifts his weight, considering how he wants to answer. It's odd: he wouldn't say he trusts Anders, because that would be trusting- -well, a man consumed by a demon, frankly, and he's seen how that ends too many times to trust one fully.

And yet he does, because there's no doubt in his mind that Anders won't abuse this knowledge. Trusts him, too, enough to fall asleep in his presence; trusts him not to go running to the nearest slaver just across the border, despite the fact even now, Fenris would fetch a fairly high price.

It's nothing new. But it is vaguely interesting.]

Hardly.

There are a few people I pay to keep me informed on such matters. Slavers are careless, especially near the Tevinter border. And despite what precautions they take, they aren't particularly clever. Moving elves takes a particular set of supplies and preparations. It's easy to spot the patterns once you learn them; from there, it's down to simply picking a lonely spot and ideal time.

[Varric maintains what he jokingly calls a spy network, but truthfully, what Fenris has isn't far from that. Except it's not really a spy network, that sounds so pretentious. Just a group of people he can rely upon for certain information delivered honestly.

It's not enough. It's picking off little wagons when the slave trade continues on in earnest. But it's what he can do, and so it's what he does. Six free elves are better than none.]

They've caught on these past few years. I stay on the move and target different companies-- there's a few main ones. Today was a more minor one.

[Better plan: blow up Tevinter--]

I'm sure there's some lurking in taverns involved.

[There has to be, what kind of old friend of Hawke doesn't lurk in a good tavern every now and then? But hm— spiriting away elves in slaving caravans is not quite as, ah, openly embraced and welcomed as the templars stomping on every mage they come across, but now that elves are becoming mages all at once...

Anders frowns again; at himself, because he knows that despite all better judgment he's going to offer to help Fenris more than just this once. It is, frankly, inevitable, and if he can take a few detours to kill a templar here and there, all the better for it— but he still has some of his pride, and so he must quip irritably for a while yet.

Fenris surely understands that particular kind of pettiness. Anders reaches for his pack, this time to wrap an actual bandage around Fenris' arm so he won't pick at the wound like a child. Hold still.]

I have a question for you.

[A beat.]

And keep in mind that if you decide to tear my throat out for asking questions, your arm is going to hurt a lot more for much longer. I'm not— well, just so you know in advance, I'm not suggesting anything. I'm only curious.

[Which he feels he should probably specify, considering his question is:] If you had the opportunity to do something like I did in Kirkwall, for the elves, would you do it?

[His first instinctive reaction is indeed to tear Anders' throat out, which is why it's good he tugs particularly sharply at the bandage the second Fenris opens his mouth. A grunt of pain slips past his lips instead, which is for the best. It forces him to think for half a second.]

Do not mistake me for Merrill. I don't go to the alienages and weep over the elves and their lost glory.

[It's slaves he's concerned with, not elves as a whole, despite there being an overwhelming overlap. Anders knows that, surely, but still: it never hurts to clarify. It also buys him a few extra seconds.]

. . . no. But not for the reasons you imagine.

[He stares steadily ahead. What Anders had done to the Chantry was barbaric, frankly, and horrifying in its enormity. It killed not just the guilty, but the innocent too, and what was the use in that? Admittedly, it sent a statement, but Fenris still isn't convinced it was the right one. And maybe Anders the man would have known that, but it was Justice-- or Vengeance, whichever-- that pushed him into it. Which just goes to show that spirits and demons are really one in the same, but that's far from the point.

Besides: Anders might have no love for the Chantry, but Fenris had. Awkwardly, uncertainly, but he had. So no, the thought is still repugnant to him, frankly.

But that isn't what Anders is asking.]

I have thought of it. Of slaughtering all those who keep slaves in Tevinter, every last one of them. Wiping them out to a man, watching the streets run red with their blood . . .

[He did not dream of it until he was free, is the thing. Not til Kirkwall. He wouldn't have dared in captivity, too focused on the desperate present, half-brainwashed through sheer abuse, so desperate to please that even the thought of minor disobedience was unthinkable. Even with the Fog Warriors-- well.]

Your mages did not want you around afterwards, did they? The Circle mages you saved. They resented you for taking away the one point of stability they knew.

If I were to do that-- to blow up the slave pens in Minrathous, or the seat of the Magisterium-- nothing would change. There might be a few slaves who would rebel, but most would be desperate to return back to what they knew. The mages would reestablish order, and come down even more harshly upon them. And nothing would change.

[Inhale, exhale, soft and steady. It's a time that's over and dead, but maybe he'll never be able to talk about it without feeling some quiet panic.]

I was desperate to return back the first time I had a taste of freedom.

[Why is he telling Anders this? Perhaps because Anders has never understood that kind of mentality. He has always been driven towards freedom and escape, so far as Fenris understands.]

When all you know is one thing-- when you have grown so used to the abuse that you look forward to the moments when it isn't so prominent, when you have been taught that your master's mood is all that matters, when you know that if you please him well enough, the next hour may be peaceful, when you have someone who will guide you and, in theory, keep you from being hurt-- you wish to keep things stable. The hell you know is better than the hell you don't, and at least in one, you are not alone. He even--

[Anyway. Comparing templars and masters won't help, and it's not the point. The point is:]

So no. I would not.

[. . .]

But I . . . I understand the urge.

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