Arda Marred Fic (with ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hallaherald)
May. 29th, 2015 07:30 pmShe was gone. It didn't matter that she was here in this Fade-like place, that he could touch her, speak with her. If he left, got back to their own world, he would never see her again. All because of one man. One mage. Yet again, magic was ruining his life... and Fenris couldn't breathe, couldn't think, the grief overpowering everything else.
His world was breaking apart; the thought of her being gone forever, lost in the Fade of all places? It was torture. She was his first friend, the one that had stood by his side all this time; they had bled together and witnessed a city torn apart by madness. He wouldn't be here without her, yet he hadn't been there to save her when she needed it.
Anger was easy to turn to, settling like an old drug that he had been clean of for a long time. It was poison in his veins and he didn't even care. What did his old ghosts and bitterness matter, now? All he could think of was throttling the smaller elf, no matter how well he knew that revenge wasn't going to fix anything. He had to take it out on something, and there was a lack of slavers between him and the younger man.
That pale throat was smooth against his glowing lyrium-lined fingers, and he could hear his own voice cursing the Inquisitor's name. He wanted the other elf to fight him, to give him the pain he needed, but the mage was still under his touch, blue eyes filled with sorrow and fear. Pressed up against the nearest surface with Fenris' hands around his neck, the warrior had expected at least a protest, maybe a lightning bolt or two.
Nothing.
The Inquisitor bruised easily, he noted as his cruel fingers blackened the white throat. He was still yelling, and Mahanon was gasping, saying something, but the rush of adrenaline and rage in his ears made it muted and strange. It sounded like an apology, and Fenris hated the man even more. How dared he apologize about such a thing? How dared he not fight but take the abuse like he deserved it? It made the warrior question himself and his anger, the grasp loosening just enough for the younger elf to catch his breath.
Killing him wouldn't help. Revenge didn't heal his sorrow back with Hadriana or Danarius... and this man seemed as upset as he was about leaving Hawke, allowing Fenris to choke him like that. Cursing under his breath, he released his grip around the Dalish. Still glowing, the lyrium markings ablaze from his anger, it was matched by the glow of the Inquisitor's hand as the pale elf rubbed his throat. There was a resemblance there that made the warrior pull away further.
They were both marked by something beyond their control, pulled into events that they didn't fully understand. It didn't excuse the mage for what he had done, but Fenris had lost the will to kill the him. Instead he simply watched as Mahanon caught his breath, legs wobbly under the other elf as he sank down on the ground and coughed. He didn't protest or accuse the warrior of trying to kill him - instead he was just calming himself down before giving Fenris another apologizing look.
It frustrated the warrior again, and he could feel himself wanting to growl at the Inquisitor, not setting him too far from a beast. "I never want to see you again," he spat out, and he knew it's unfair, maybe even impossible in a place like this. He wanted to tell him to stay away from Hawke as well, but that wasn't his place, no matter how much the thought of the other elf even getting near her added to his newly-found bitterness.
Finally he tore himself away from the crumpled Inquisitor, stalking off to find something to kill and deal with the rest of his grief. He would pull through. He had to, even if it felt like half of him was dead. He had to, for her.
***
Behind him, crouched on the ground, Mahanon rubbed the bruises around his neck and watched the shining elf stomp off. He had expected retribution from Hawke's friends, and deep inside he had welcomed it. Leaving her in the Fade, even though it was her own decision, had weighed heavily on him for a long time. Now when he had been brutally manhandled by an elf with a broken heart and scathing anger under tightening fingers, he had accepted his rage and said his apologies, no matter how hollow and useless they felt.
With time, maybe they both would heal.
His world was breaking apart; the thought of her being gone forever, lost in the Fade of all places? It was torture. She was his first friend, the one that had stood by his side all this time; they had bled together and witnessed a city torn apart by madness. He wouldn't be here without her, yet he hadn't been there to save her when she needed it.
Anger was easy to turn to, settling like an old drug that he had been clean of for a long time. It was poison in his veins and he didn't even care. What did his old ghosts and bitterness matter, now? All he could think of was throttling the smaller elf, no matter how well he knew that revenge wasn't going to fix anything. He had to take it out on something, and there was a lack of slavers between him and the younger man.
That pale throat was smooth against his glowing lyrium-lined fingers, and he could hear his own voice cursing the Inquisitor's name. He wanted the other elf to fight him, to give him the pain he needed, but the mage was still under his touch, blue eyes filled with sorrow and fear. Pressed up against the nearest surface with Fenris' hands around his neck, the warrior had expected at least a protest, maybe a lightning bolt or two.
Nothing.
The Inquisitor bruised easily, he noted as his cruel fingers blackened the white throat. He was still yelling, and Mahanon was gasping, saying something, but the rush of adrenaline and rage in his ears made it muted and strange. It sounded like an apology, and Fenris hated the man even more. How dared he apologize about such a thing? How dared he not fight but take the abuse like he deserved it? It made the warrior question himself and his anger, the grasp loosening just enough for the younger elf to catch his breath.
Killing him wouldn't help. Revenge didn't heal his sorrow back with Hadriana or Danarius... and this man seemed as upset as he was about leaving Hawke, allowing Fenris to choke him like that. Cursing under his breath, he released his grip around the Dalish. Still glowing, the lyrium markings ablaze from his anger, it was matched by the glow of the Inquisitor's hand as the pale elf rubbed his throat. There was a resemblance there that made the warrior pull away further.
They were both marked by something beyond their control, pulled into events that they didn't fully understand. It didn't excuse the mage for what he had done, but Fenris had lost the will to kill the him. Instead he simply watched as Mahanon caught his breath, legs wobbly under the other elf as he sank down on the ground and coughed. He didn't protest or accuse the warrior of trying to kill him - instead he was just calming himself down before giving Fenris another apologizing look.
It frustrated the warrior again, and he could feel himself wanting to growl at the Inquisitor, not setting him too far from a beast. "I never want to see you again," he spat out, and he knew it's unfair, maybe even impossible in a place like this. He wanted to tell him to stay away from Hawke as well, but that wasn't his place, no matter how much the thought of the other elf even getting near her added to his newly-found bitterness.
Finally he tore himself away from the crumpled Inquisitor, stalking off to find something to kill and deal with the rest of his grief. He would pull through. He had to, even if it felt like half of him was dead. He had to, for her.
Behind him, crouched on the ground, Mahanon rubbed the bruises around his neck and watched the shining elf stomp off. He had expected retribution from Hawke's friends, and deep inside he had welcomed it. Leaving her in the Fade, even though it was her own decision, had weighed heavily on him for a long time. Now when he had been brutally manhandled by an elf with a broken heart and scathing anger under tightening fingers, he had accepted his rage and said his apologies, no matter how hollow and useless they felt.
With time, maybe they both would heal.
