peopleofthedas | Fenris/Isabela fic continued

Title: Options
Words: 2000
Characters: Anders, Saoirse, Isabela, Fenris
Summary: Anders has some news that Fenris won't like.

POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF PAST ABUSE.

Hawke and Isabela take the…child elsewhere in the house (Hawke makes some quip about Isabela teaching her new words and Isabela chortles in obvious delight) and leave him alone with the mage, who looks… older than he did. Fenris had never been able to guess at the man's age - he seemed so young sometimes that he believed him younger than himself, but it was obvious now that this isn't the case. Crows feet run deep next to the large eyes, and there are streaks of grey in the blonde hair. His ever-present stubble is salt-and-pepper now.

But he is stronger - stands straighter, no longer bowed down by the dirt and despair and death of Kirkwall. They are all better to be out of that place, he thinks, even this hole in the ground is better than the madness they endured - a simple cottage with simple comforts better by far than the Hawke estate, which he hears Varric has now turned into a tavern.

"You have a child," Fenris states.

"You noticed?" Anders says, grinning slightly. Fenris feels his nostrils flare. This… is not going to help.

"She looks…" Fenris has exactly no experience with children, he has no idea what to say, "…healthy."

Anders' grin goes from sly to soft and Fenris feels a sudden ache in his chest. "She is. Strong."

"Is she a mage?"

Anders shrugs. "No way of knowing as yet," he says. "My power didn't manifest until I was twelve - Hawke's came when she was six. It will be a few years before we know."

"The chances are high though?"

"I don't know," Anders fixes him with a hard stare. "We're the only mage parents I know who have been allowed to keep their child. There's surprisingly little information to be had about that sort of thing."

"They would know - in Tevinter."

There is a long silence. "I'm not terribly keen to go and find out, though," Anders says, and Fenris snorts, smiling a little. "You didn't come here to talk about my daughter."

"No. I did not."

"So. What is it?"

Fenris looks down at his hands, at the lines along his fingers, and heaves a sigh. "My markings," he says. "They are… giving me some pain. And they are… unpredictable."

Anders' eyes widen. "Unpredictable?"

"They flare without warning. Or do not follow my commands. I have… phased through things without meaning to… I… ah… I am a danger."

The Anders he remembers would have laughed at him, he thinks. But this man simply narrows his eyes and asks,"what do you think I can do for you?"

He stands and paces the room. "Danarius… used to… " he stops, takes a deep breath. "He used to do things to me, with magic. Every few weeks he would… "

"Fenris… you…" Anders remains in his seat, but there is real concern in his voice. "Would you feel better telling this to Hawke?"

He shakes his head. "I.. I do not think Hawke has what I need," he says. "She is powerful, but she wasn't trained in the circle, and… I know… you spent a long time in Kirkwall, researching Tevinter spells."

"I did. But I wasn't researching ways to insert lyrium under people's skins."

"Pfah! Why must you make this more difficult?"

Anders' chuckles. "Habit, I suspect," he says. "But… you said Danarius used to…?"

Fenris clenches his jaw and closes his eyes. "Every few weeks, he would… flood my markings with magic. He said… it was necessary to recharge them occasionally. I did not believe him. I thought it was just another way of… exerting his control over me. Another way to cause me pain."

He opens his eyes to see Anders frowning, looking at a spot near Fenris' chest. "It hurt, when you were exposed to magic?"

"Magic… for me magic is always painful," he says.

"Even healing magic?"

"Yes."

"You never said."

"I find it preferable to be whole and alive, mage. Pain is a small price to pay for the advantages magic gives you."

"It shouldn't hurt you though," the mage gets to his feet, expression cool and clinical now - the expression he wore whenever he had a puzzle to solve - a wound to heal…

That's what these are, he thinks, looking at his hands. A wound. "May I?" Anders says, looking at Fenris and holding up a hand. "I'll… try to be gentle."

Fenris gives a short nod and Anders reaches out, lightly touching an exposed line of lyrium on Fenris' arm. He controls the urge to wince, or prepare himself for the surge of magic he knows is coming, but Anders does not cast, simply runs a warm finger along he line of lyrium, head cocked as though he is listening to something.

"The song. It's… faltering," he says, eyes closing, a frown forming behind his brows.

"Your spirit can hear it?"

Anders chuckles again. "He can always hear it. Drives me bonkers, actually, especially down here in its raw form. Yours is better, but it's still ever so slightly annoying, especially when you do that glowing thing."

As he talks, he is running his fingers along the line of the lyrium. He plucks at the leather of his armour and clicks his tongue. "Can you take this off? There's something… I need… " he heaves a breath. "I'm sorry Fenris, I know this is awkward for you. But I need to be able to feel more of the lyrium."

Fenris has tensed up, even further, if that is possible. The thought of disrobing in front of the mage is bringing back unpleasant memories, not just of his time with Danarius, but of a confrontation on the side of Sundermount, a morning after a night of something he regrets fiercely, even now, six years later.

He shoves Anders back. The healer gives a small cry of surprise that turns questioning as Fenris starts working on the toggles of his breastplate, stripping off his gauntlets first and tossing them on the one easy chair.

He pulls the breastplate off before he can reconsider and turns, facing the mage, who is watching him with a calculating eye. He has seen Fenris like this before. Many times. They fought next to each other too often for him not to be wounded seriously enough for Anders to heal, although he had always preferred that Hawke do it, there were some things he was simply better at - and healing had always been one of them.

Anders does him the courtesy of not talking, instead steps close enough that Fenris can smell him - leather and elfroot and magic and man and Fenris cannot repress the shudder this time. His hands are calloused, however, whereas Danarius' had always been smooth. Large and strong fingered and warm, where Danarius' had always been cold and somewhat clammy, with nails pointed like claws.

Anders starts at the end of one line on his palm and runs his hand all the way up to the join at his shoulder, then follows the line down his back. He hums slightly under his breath, although Fenris gets the impression it is something he is doing unconsciously, perhaps trying to sing along with whatever it is his spirit hears.

"He flooded you with magic every couple of weeks?" Anders says.

"Yes," Fenris replies.

"Can you tell me exactly what he did? What sort of magic he used?"

"Do I look like I know the difference between schools of magic?" he snarls. "It was painful. That's all I know."

Anders sighs. "Fenris I can't help you unless you tell me."

"Vos tendo patientia mea," he hisses.

"Funny, I didn't know you had any," Anders replies quickly, stepping back. "You can put your armour back on."

"You do not amuse me, mage," Fenris says, slipping his breastplate back into place.

"And I try so hard, too," the mage's mouth is quirking in a grin and Fenris has to try very hard not to punch the smile from his face. He doubts that Hawke or the child will appreciate it.

"You require me to tell you exactly what Danarius did?" He is disconcerted by the compassion in Anders' eyes as he nods.

"Very well." There is a long pause. Then he hears himself speak. "He would take me to a room in the centre of his estate and strap me to a table with silverite manacles," Fenris looks away, remembering. The room had always smelt of dead things. Despair. Fear. The slave pits had smelt better. "He told me if I moved too much during the process I would harm myself. Eventually… he would place his hands on my markings, here, and here," he touched each wrist. "Then he would cast. I assumed at the time it was blood magic - he had… a number of other slaves whose blood he used for that purpose, but I… could not tell you exactly what type of magic it was. I do not… I have not made a study of how different schools feel."

"No," Anders says softly. "I don't imagine you have."

"It would go on for some time, then he would stop and… replenish himself. With blood, usually, although he sometimes used lyrium the way you and Hawke do…" he shakes his head. "I suspect blood was cheaper for him, however."

There is a long silence. Anders sucks at his teeth. Shame is settling into a cold ball in Fenris' stomach - these are things he has told no one, not Hawke, not Isabela - things he would have liked to have told no one ever. Part of him is wondering if Anders is going to complete his humiliation, demand every detail of his time with Danarius, but the healer simply sits, and motions for Fenris to do the same.

"You're not going to like what I have to say," he says.

"Do I ever?"

He chuckles again, before pinching the bridge of his nose. "Lyrium isn't like other… elements, you know that well enough."

"Naturally."

"In its raw form it is unstable. Difficult to use. We cannot simply… draw power from it, at least, not easily. The refining process makes it safer, easier to use."

"Get to the point, mage."

Anders swallows. "The lyrium in your skin is deteriorating," he says. "Corrupting. When you were being… regularly infused with magic, that deterioration was held off. I'm guessing since you've been with Isabela you haven't had any magical healing?"

"Traveling as a pirate appears to be a good deal safer than living near Hawke in Kirkwall," Fenris says drily, and Anders chuckles again.

"Well now, that's part of the problem. You're not getting regular infusions of magic any longer, and your markings have… started to deteriorate as a result."

"So are you saying that you need to… do what Danarius used to do to me? To stabilise them again?"

Anders looks troubled. "I… could try that yes. We would have to experiment with what type of magic Danarius used - although considering they have only started playing up recently I suspect regular healing magic would work, no need to sacrifice any virgins or anything."

Fenris swallows. "If that is all that is required…"

"It isn't."

The mage's voice is flat and cold, and Fenris draws in a breath.

"No?" he says.

Anders shakes his head, sighing. "I'm sorry, Fenris, but there's no way to stop the deterioration of the lyrium. It needs more than just magic."

Fenris narrows his eyes. "Oh?"

"We can do one of two things," he says. "Attempt to strip the lyrium out, which from what you've said before will probably kill you."

"Yes." Not to mention leave him practically helpless.

"Or we can…" Anders swallows. "We can recharge it. With new lyrium."

Fenris/Isabela fic continued

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