[ Whatever Fenris expected, being held was not it. He sucks in a quiet breath through his nose, shifting onto his stomach and pressing his face into the rags underneath. The change of position essentially results in him lying halfway beneath Anders, like a beast resting in the shade of a tree, bad arm stretched away. They're positioned in such a way that parts of Fenris touch parts of Anders, casual, incidental. As though it's the most natural thing. As though Anders could fit the whole of his body against his and he would neither protest nor mind. It is incredible. Baffling and dreadful.
He truly has no idea how to begin addressing what just happened. Even if he did, exhaustion from the day's ordeals has slowly coiled around him again, squeezing until darkness encroaches on his vision. ]
Rest, [ he repeats, softer this time but firmer, nonjudgmental.
Fenris sleeps better that night than he has in years.
They've learned to take their lives—or what passes for lives—one day at a time. Worry not about what tomorrow has in store, simply concentrate on making it through today. Anders can supply water, if he has power to spare; in suffering his jailors' irregular silences, Fenris has become quite adept at hunting vermin, of which there are plenty. Both valuable and necessary skills, because the templars appear less and less as the days and weeks tick on. Eventually they stop taking him altogether. Fenris knows not why, but he can tell something outside is changing, right along with the dull red glow that starts to burn in their eyes.
Day by day; night by night. Gradually the daylight begins to lengthen, the wind warms, the stars shift against the sky, and Anders and Fenris touch each other in the dark. Every night is so much like that first night: quiet, vaguely somber, usually with only one tending to the other in response to some perceived need, followed by carrying on when dawn breaks like nothing ever happened. But once in a while a night comes where their hands work simultaneously, or they're both too drained by hunger to do anything but close their eyes and pretend they're not holding each other. Eventually it becomes routine—even once the temperature no longer demands they huddle for warmth. Eventually Anders slumps into Fenris's side in mid-afternoon; eventually Fenris rests with his head pillowed on Anders's thigh.
This is where they are tonight, with the sun just starting to slip onto the horizon. It's been some time since they've eaten anything, now that it's spring enough for the rats to go outside. Fenris stares dully at the stones in the ceiling, trying his best to think about anything else. ]
Do you remember, [ he begins, then forgets, then remembers again when some rabble somewhere outside jars him back into the present, ] the time Hawke brought us all the way to Orlais just to watch her dig through wyvern shit?
[ This is the longest sentence he's spoken in... a while, but with it comes a melancholy little wash of fondness. ]
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-02-10 07:26 am (UTC)He truly has no idea how to begin addressing what just happened. Even if he did, exhaustion from the day's ordeals has slowly coiled around him again, squeezing until darkness encroaches on his vision. ]
Rest, [ he repeats, softer this time but firmer, nonjudgmental.
Fenris sleeps better that night than he has in years.
They've learned to take their lives—or what passes for lives—one day at a time. Worry not about what tomorrow has in store, simply concentrate on making it through today. Anders can supply water, if he has power to spare; in suffering his jailors' irregular silences, Fenris has become quite adept at hunting vermin, of which there are plenty. Both valuable and necessary skills, because the templars appear less and less as the days and weeks tick on. Eventually they stop taking him altogether. Fenris knows not why, but he can tell something outside is changing, right along with the dull red glow that starts to burn in their eyes.
Day by day; night by night. Gradually the daylight begins to lengthen, the wind warms, the stars shift against the sky, and Anders and Fenris touch each other in the dark. Every night is so much like that first night: quiet, vaguely somber, usually with only one tending to the other in response to some perceived need, followed by carrying on when dawn breaks like nothing ever happened. But once in a while a night comes where their hands work simultaneously, or they're both too drained by hunger to do anything but close their eyes and pretend they're not holding each other. Eventually it becomes routine—even once the temperature no longer demands they huddle for warmth. Eventually Anders slumps into Fenris's side in mid-afternoon; eventually Fenris rests with his head pillowed on Anders's thigh.
This is where they are tonight, with the sun just starting to slip onto the horizon. It's been some time since they've eaten anything, now that it's spring enough for the rats to go outside. Fenris stares dully at the stones in the ceiling, trying his best to think about anything else. ]
Do you remember, [ he begins, then forgets, then remembers again when some rabble somewhere outside jars him back into the present, ] the time Hawke brought us all the way to Orlais just to watch her dig through wyvern shit?
[ This is the longest sentence he's spoken in... a while, but with it comes a melancholy little wash of fondness. ]