Work Text:
Fenris sat on the cold hard floor with his back against a couch. There was a long tear in the middle of the seats where all the cushioning was coming out, making the thing not very good to sit in, but it was a good height for Fenris to head his head back on as he sat in front of the fire.
It was starting to burn out, but Fenris didn’t have much firewood and he had to use it sparingly, since jobs with Hawke were a lot more scarce during the winter. Not many bandits out in the snow apparently.
Besides, the cold didn’t bother Fenris that much. It had its bite, but in Fenris’s opinion, it was far preferable to the awful heat in tevinter. The snow was nice too, it never snowed in Tevinter and it was pretty, Fenris liked it. He liked it a whole lot less when he had to walk around in it, but if anything that was just an excuse to spend the season inside.
Wind rattled the shutters, but Fenris ignored it. So long as the shutters stayed on their hinges, they could rattle as much as they pleased; it wouldn’t bother him. He considered getting up and searching for a bottle of wine, but the coldness brought lethargy that made Fenris stay in his seat, watching the embers burn and listening to the wind.
“Fenris?”
A voice called out to him from the foyer, too quiet to be distinguished. It was probably Hawke, or one of the others, because anyone looking to attack him wouldn’t be calling out his name, giving him their location, but Fenris bristles nonetheless. His laxness had been drowned in a sea of adrenaline as he reached for his sword.
Footsteps came closer as they approached the room, and Fenris readied himself to jump at any attacker.
“Fenris? Are you- oh, hello there!”
It was Sebastian, Fenris didn’t even need to hear the distinctive accent, as he could tell who it was from the moment he saw the light reflecting off his blue eyes. No longer on edge, Fenris settled back down on the floor and allowed Sebastian in.
“I tried knocking but I don’t think you heard me over the wind.” He walked closer and Fenris got a better look at him. He wasn’t wearing his armor, he seemed to have abandoned it for something warmer, a hooded jacket and a large, fur lined cloak that he had wrapped tightly around himself.
“Cold?” Fenris asked, watching him shiver despite the many layers.
Sebastian nodded, looking longingly at the dying fire for a moment. “Kirkwall isn’t much farther south than Starkhaven, but the winters feel so much worse. I don’t think I’ve ever quite gotten used to them.”
Fenris sighed and stood up, throwing the firewood he was trying to save onto the fire, and retrieving the poker to move it around and revive the flame. “Is the chantry that cold?” He asked. Though Fenris had never experienced a winter in Starkhaven, he doubted that it could be that much colder than Kirkwall, but it might seem that way to someone who had lived in a warm, well insulated castle before moving into a chantry. The chantry in Kirkwall was nice, but unlikely to be as warm as a royal palace. Not that the abandoned mansion that Fenris squatted in could not possibly be warmer than either.
“The chantry is fine, it stays warmer since it houses all the people with nowhere else to escape the snow.”
Raising an eyebrow, Fenris looked away from his work with the fire to question Sebastian. “And you came here to feel the cold again?”
Sebastian shook his head, chuckling slightly with only the slightest chattering off teeth. “I came to make sure you were staying warm as well. If you needed any firewood, or perhaps to stay at the chantry…”
Fenris frowned and turned back to fire. “No, I’m quite alright. The cold doesn’t bother me that much.”
“Truly? Then I am quite envious, my friend,” Sebastian smiled. “I thought you might not be used to the cold, since you lived up north.”
“I have felt the cold before. I traveled plenty with Danarius, and slaves are not generally provided with comforts such as blankets.”
“Oh…” Sebastian words trailed off awkwardly. “I… I am sorry-“
“Don’t be,” Fenris scoffed. “He is dead and it doesn’t matter anymore.”
Sebastian still shifted awkwardly in his feet, Fenris decided to believe that it was because of the cold.
“I um, I brought some tea, if perhaps you have a kettle and some cups.”
Fenris nodded to his left. “There should be a kitchen over there, it might have some things in it.”
Sebastian nodded and headed off, returning a few minutes later with a tray that held a mostly intact tea set.
The fireplace had a small spit for holding things like small pots or kettles, and fortunately it wasn’t difficult to set up.
They waited for it to boil in silence, Fenris tending the fire while Sebastian set up the tea and watched the kettle. When it began boiling, Sebastian carefully removed the kettle from the fire, and poured the water into the teapot. He waited, watching Sebastian who, without looking away from the tea pot, began to sing quietly.
“O Maker, hear my cry:
Guide me through the blackest nights.
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.
Make me to rest in the warmest places.
O Creator, see me kneel:
For I walk only where You would bid me.
Stand only in places You have blessed.
Sing only the words You place in my throat.
My Maker, know my heart:
Take from me a life of sorrow.
Lift me from a world of pain.
Judge me worthy of Your endless pride.
My Creator, judge me whole:
Find me well within Your grace.
Touch me with fire that I be cleansed.
Tell me I have sung to Your approval.
O Maker, hear my cry:
Seat me by Your side in death.
Make me one within Your glory.
And let the world once more see Your favor.
For You are the fire at the heart of the world,
And comfort is only Yours to give.”
When he finished the final verse, Sebastian sat back and poured the tea into the two cups he had set up. It wasn’t until he went to pass Fenris his cup that he noticed the elf’s curious expression.
“Sorry,” he turned his face back to the tea, expression lined with embarrassment. “It’s how I learned to measure the time while the tea steeps in the chantry. I guess it’s a hard habit to shake...”
Fenris nodded as he received the cup that Sebastian had passed him, feeling the heat of the drink through the cup as he held it with both hands. “That was… Transfigurations, wasn’t it?”
Sebastian lit up, nodding excitedly. “Yes! It was Transfigurations 12, Andraste’s prayer before the siege of Minrathous. Have you been reading the copy of the chant I gave you?”
Fenris shrugged, not quite commiting to an answer. He had tried, but the words were long and complicated, and the letters were small and too close together. In truth he remembered because of the time he had gone to the chantry to deliver a message to Sebastian from Hawke, about an expedition the next morning, but he walked in right before a service. Since Sebastian was singing in the choir, and Fenris felt too awkward to walk out, he ended up staying and waiting in the back until it was over. Those were the verses that they had sung.
“I have read some,” he finally said, when he realized that Sebastian was desperate for a real answer. “But I have heard it many times before.”
“Of course, I sometimes forget what a remarkable memory you have. I grew up going to chantry services and yet before I joined the chantry, I’m not sure I could have told you anything about any of the canticles.”
Fenris shrugged again, shying away from the praise, and blew on his tea, interrupting the hot steam that rose up from the cup. He didn’t drink tea often, or at all really. Tea was complicated, as Fenris remembered it. Danarius would drink it, and when it wasn’t to his standards he would throw the scalding cup at the slave who served him. The water had to be the right temperature, let steep for a specific amount of time, and Danarius had specific requirements of cream and sugar.
Sebastian lifted his own cup, blowing and then taking a small sip. “Hot,” he commented, pulling away quickly.
“Yes, that is to be expected from boiling water.”
He chuckled softly at that. “I suppose it is. Perhaps I should have brought some cream to cool it down.”
Fenris shrugged. “It is fine. I do not mind waiting for it to cool.”
Sebastian looked down at his tea and smiled fondly. “When I was younger I only drank tea when I was forced, because I would always burn my tongue. That and I preferred… stronger flavors at the time,” he added, turning back to Fenris.
“But you like it now?”
“To be honest, not especially,” he laughed, “I still find it rather bland and I would usually prefer a spiced wine or cider. But I like this one. It’s a chamomile with vanilla.”
Fenris looked down at his cup, smelling the tea inside and recognizing the scent. “A calming tea.”
“It was, at first, a gift from the grand cleric when I joined the chantry, probably because she thought I could use some calming down. And she was probably right. I always drank it when I read the chant at night.”
It was easy to imagine, Sebastian curled up in bed, reading the chant, a single candle lit to illuminate the words, and sipping from a cup of tea. It was harder for Fenris to imagine Sebastian before the chantry, a wild, drunkard prince. The image didn’t fit Sebastian very well, at least not the calm, patient man that Fenris had come to know. Though, he supposed it might be hard for Sebastian to imagine him as a slave, not an angry warrior who sought vengeance against magic.
“It should be cool enough to drink now,” Sebastian said, taking another hesitant sip. Fenris waited for Sebastian to smile and nod. “Perfect.”
Fenris followed his lead and sipped from his own cup, taking in the warm, comforting drink. The flavor wasn’t strong, but it was kind, not overpowering with spices or floral flavors. Fenris could feel the tea warm his body from the inside, a lightness in his chest and stomach.
Leaning back against the couch, Sebastian joined Fenris, pulling his feet underneath him and pulling his cloak a little bit tighter.
“Still cold?” Fenris asked, looking over his shoulder just in time to see Sebastian shiver.
“A little, but with the tea and the fire, I’ll warm up fine.”
Fenris sighed and reached down to grab the blanket that he had haphazardly thrown back over himself, and passed it to Sebastian.
“Oh, no,” Sebastian shook his head, “I’m fine really, and I don’t want you to get cold.”
“I told you; I don’t get cold.”
Sebastian looked at Fenris for a moment, then down at his arm, uncovered by his sleeveless tunic. “You have goosebumps,” he pointed out.
Fenris looked down at his arm, feeling betrayed by the reaction.
“Here,” Sebastian suggested, scooting in closer until his shoulders were inches away from Fenris’s. “We could share the blanket, and maybe proximity will help keep us both warm. If you’re comfortable with that, of course.”
Shrugging, Fenris took the other half of the blanket and put it back over his own lap. He didn’t understand all the fussing, since the blanket was so thin that it probably wouldn’t make much of a difference. But he knew that Sebastian hated feeling selfish, probably because that’s what the chantry taught him. So if it would stop Sebastian from worrying, then it didn’t matter that much.
They sipped their tea and continued to talk, mostly about small things, like when they thought the weather would get nicer, the nonsense in Varric’s latest story, and the business at the chantry. It was simple, easy conversation, nothing probing that made Fenris have to think very hard.
When Sebastian came over to talk they would sometimes have more serious debates, about the chantry and tevinter and things that they felt passionate about, and while it was pleasing to talk about deep things, to share your thoughts and feel heard, Fenris quite enjoyed their light discussions too. It was easy to relax around Sebastian, since he didn’t tease or lie when they talked. If Fenris misspoke, Sebastian would allow him to correct himself and then carry on as if nothing happened.
The others seemed to think Sebastian boring sometimes, or too serious, but Fenris found that he had a fine sense of humor. He would make puns or clever play on words, would sometimes laugh at his own jokes. He laughed at Fenris’s dry and dark humor as well, even if it wasn’t that funny.
Sometimes they didn’t even need to talk. Sometimes they would just sit, enjoying the silence and company.
Fenris places his empty tea cup on the ground next to him, not quite willing to venture out from his spot to place it back on the tray.
He settled back into his position against the couch, leaning his head back against the seat, and stared at the cracked paint of the ceiling. He thought to himself, enjoying the sounds of the fire and the flurrying wind. Sebastian would probably leave soon, go back to his duties at the chantry, but until then, Fenris couldn’t help but grow comfortable sitting next to the man, not touching, but close enough to feel his warmth, something that Fenris hadn’t expected to feel, or enjoy.
Perhaps the tea had Fenris a bit too relaxed, a bit too comfortable, perhaps he should wave his sword around a bit until he was back to being ready to fight at the drop of a coin.
Not that he moved from where he sat, he just thought about it, as he thought about many things.
There was an unexpected touch on Fenris’s shoulder that made him jump, breaking the relative tranquility of the evening. His heart sped up involuntarily, as a rush of adrenaline told Fenris to run, but the touch was only Sebastian. His head had fallen against Fenris’s shoulder and he made soft noises as he breathed peacefully.
Usually Sebastian was always careful around Fenris, never touching without permission, always keeping a respectable, friendly distance between them. Fenris was so taken aback by the suddenness of the gesture it took him a moment to realize that Sebastian’s eyes were closed.
“Sebastian?” Fenris asked quietly, waving at him when he didn’t respond.
He’s asleep, Fenris realized, and he watched for a long, confused moment. He couldn’t imagine it was particularly comfortable to be sitting on the floor, leaning against a broken couch with only a threadbare blanket and a fur cloak, but apparently it was comfortable enough for Sebastian. Fenris wondered if Sebastian had a particularly busy day, or if he hadn’t been sleeping well, but he didn’t seem too tired when he first arrived.
Fenris always avoided being touched. The others were usually good about it, though they sometimes forgot and clapped him on the back or something, but they would apologize and Fenris would move on. He didn’t like the pressure against his markings, the uncomfortable reminder that they were they. He didn’t like being taken off guard either, and being touched, especially when he wasn’t expecting it, reminded Fenris too much of his time as a slave, being poked and prodded, examined like an animal with no agency over his own body.
But he left Sebastian’s head on his shoulder, even scooting a bit closer, as to make the position more comfortable.
There were very few people that Fenris trusted, and somehow Sebastian had managed to work his way onto that list. Sebastian felt safe, and warm, and he smelled like soap and incense and the wax he used on his bow.
It was almost funny, that Fenris found himself feeling safe with Sebastian. Fenris wasn’t even sure if that was the right word to describe the feeling, since he wasn’t sure he had ever felt safe before. He wondered if he was just miscatorigorizing some other feeling, something else good that he had never felt before. He didn’t know a whole lot about being happy.
Fenris was all sharp edges and anger. He always had been. Even now, with Danarius and Hadriana dead and rotting, he still felt angry, discontented. As if there was a fire inside of him, slowly burning him away, and he just couldn’t stomp it out.
Sebastian was nothing like that. He was patient and kind and merciful. Fenris didn’t understand why Sebastian was here with him. He had been there after all, during everything. He had seen Fenris get angry, tear hearts out, scream, and smash bottles like a child throwing a tantrum.
He heard Fenris spit venomous words at Anders and Merrill and all mages. Words that he often didn’t mean, but that came out reflexively as his constant anger and hatred began boiling over, flooding out of his mouth. He never apologized either, because even if he didn’t mean everything, he was still angry, and proud, and scared of exposing any kind of weakness that could be exploited. Then his inability to control himself, and his guilt only made Fenris more angry. Angry at himself, at the world, at everything.
But despite all that, all the ugliness and rage, Sebastian was still there, sleeping soundly on Fenris’s shoulder. As if he wasn’t a prince, and Fenris wasn’t an escaped slave. As both normal people who had never killed anyone.
It felt… nice. Soothing. Like the feeling of getting drunk, but without any of the fogginess, or stabbing headaches. It was just… comfortable. Comfort was never something Fenris had cared much about, he never had time to be comfortable, he was too busy surviving. But now, perhaps he could do both, if he could ever learn.
Fenris often thought himself broken, like the vase in Danarius’s manor that a slave had once bumped into on accident, knocking it off a table and shattering it on the floor. The offending slave had been killed of course, bled by Danarius to fuel his blood magic, and the broken vase had been thrown out.
Repairing it would have been tedious and dangerous, one would risk stepping on a small, sharp piece of pottery, or cutting themselves on one of the jagged, broken edges. And even if they did put it back together, it would never be the same. Some of the pottery would be chipped and there would be cracks, showing where it was once broken.
Without thinking, Fenris felt himself reaching out for Sebastian’s hand and holding it gently. His fingers were calloused, and he had scars on his hands, some more faded than others, a few small freckles. Fenris knew such things were from archery; he had seen Sebastian work with his bow, knew that his hands were fast and accurate and would fire a dozen arrows in a second.
Still, a part of Fenris wondered, with Sebastian’s background as a prince in a castle and a brother in a chantry, if perhaps he had ever been the one to break a vase. If Sebastian would simply throw it out, or if he would work tirelessly to put it back together. If maybe one of those faded scars was from that work. If maybe he wouldn’t mind doing it again.
Fenris dropped Sebastian’s hand back onto his knee, but placed his own hand over it, too tempted by the warm, soft skin to let go entirely. Then he leaned back, resting his head against the cushion behind him. He felt Sebastian’s head move further against his shoulder, Sebastian’s hair pressed lightly against his neck and jaw. Fenris absentmindedly rolled his head to the side to accommodate Sebastian’s position, and he closed his eyes, listening to the soft sounds of the crackling fire and Sebastian’s breathing.
Fenris woke up, startled by the darkness and his upright position. Instinctively he lit up his markings so he could see his surroundings, and realized that he was just in his living room. Blinking and rolling his sore neck, Fenris realized that he must have fallen asleep sitting on the floor after his tea with Sebastian. Looking around to see if Sebastian had woken up and left, Fenris found himself shifting and recognizing a weight in his lap.
Sebastian. Sebastian’s head in his lap, while he continued to sleep soundly. And Fenris’s fingers were still carded through his dark hair.
Reflectively, Fenris retracted, pulling his hand away from the warm softness of Sebastian’s hair, and causing the sleeping man to groan at the loss, reaching for the hand with closed eyes and taking it tenderly. His expression relaxed again when he held Fenris’s hand, shifting comfortably against his lap. With tired and open affection, Sebastian brought Fenris’s hand to his lips, placing a short, tender kiss to his knuckles before bringing the hand to his cheek and holding it there, nuzzling against the warmth.
Unsure how to respond, Fenris didn’t move. He watched, shocked and fascinated by Sebastian’s tired movements, and allowed his hand to be taken and moved.
Sleepily, Sebastian began to blink to his eyes, then as his surroundings became clear, he opened them wide, jumping up as if burned.
“Fenris! I- I um-“ he looked around wildly, visibly unsure of what to say.
Fenris just blinked, waiting for him to say something, because Fenris couldn’t think of anything to say himself.
“’m sorry,” Sebastian managed, speaking quickly and awkwardly. With his accent thick from sleep, Fenris could barely understand him. “I was asleep, and ah- I should go back to chantry-“
With another mumbled apology and goodbye, Sebastian got up and ran off, flying out the door and into the storm without retrieving his cloak.
Fenris watched him leave silently. He was left holding the cloak. It was still warm, and smelled like Sebastian. Fenris wasn’t sure what to think as he continued to stare at the door, long after Sebastian had left. The skin of his hand that had touched Sebastian’s lips was left feeling warm and tingly, and Fenris ran his fingers over it in a vain attempt to figure out why.
Fenris wasn’t sure what to expect when he walked into the chantry. Perhaps a large group of people, seeking refuge from the cold. But the storm had subsided and it seemed as though many had left.
There was almost no one in the chapel, Fenris observed, and there wasn’t much to heat the room besides lamps and candles. It would take a lot to heat up such a big room, so Fenris suspected that many of the chantry’s residents sought warmth in smaller rooms, with a fireplace and blankets. Or perhaps they were outside, handing out scarves to the poor.
The statue of Andraste towered behind the podium, as Fenris walked across the smooth stone floor. The ground was cold against his bare feet, but the chantry walls blocked the wind and the snow that had settled on the streets of Kirkwall.
The pews were mostly empty, which Fenris was grateful for. He hated being stared at when he walked in the chantry. He was an elf after all, and elves were expected to stay in the alienage, and besides that he was an elf with strange tattoos who wandered barefoot and armored, and who spoke like a tevinter. He looked like three different kinds of heathen.
Fenris almost missed the head of brown hair, bent in prayer as he kneeled. But his footsteps weren’t quiet enough to keep from being heard in the silent chapel.
Sebastian didn’t allow himself to be interrupted most footsteps, as he intended to focus on his prayers and allow others to do the same. He didn’t look up from his prayer until he recognized the sound of bare feet, that was when he stood up and looked around until his vision settled on the elf and his ears started to burn. “Fenris?”
He took a step to leave the pew, but Fenris shook his head and approached the pew, sitting himself down next to Sebastian who, inturn, settled back down as well. Fenris sat closer than he normally would, close enough to see the confusion written on Sebastian’s knitted brow as he watched Fenris pull his feet up under him, and pull out the cloak, and the one that Sebastian had left behind.
Sebastian opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Slowly, as though Sebastian was a deer who might start running at any sudden movement, Fenris placed his head on Sebastian’s shoulder and pulled the cloak over the laps. He cuddled closer against Sebastian, taking in the familiar warmth and scent. It had only been a week since Sebastian had left his cloak, and Fenris had spent every night with the cloak wrapped around himself, until the scent began to fade and it started to lose some of its warmth. It left Fenris feeling cold, a cold that he hadn’t realized was there until he had been warm.
“I was cold.” Fenris said softly, his voice hushed, though his reverence had nothing to with chantry around them.
‘I missed you, I was cold without you,’ is what Fenris didn’t say, but he hoped the message came through his actions. He wasn’t sure how to say it, how to open his heart and confess such things. But he knew that he cared for Sebastian, and he wanted to be next to him.
“Oh,” Sebastian responded, and he paused. For a moment Fenris thought his hesitation meant rejection, that he would push Fenris away, remind Fenris of their different stations, and he would leave.
But he didn’t.
Instead, Sebastian reached out and took Fenris’s hand with the same tender grace as he had the other night. And just like the other night as well, he shyly brought Fenris’s hand to his lips and placed a small, chaste kiss of his knuckles that made Fenris’s heart soar.
“I was cold too, but I’m glad you’re here.”
He moved to embrace Fenris, hold him closer. Sebastian moved carefully, as to not disturb him and Fenris smiled, interlacing his fingers with Sebastian’s as they sat together. It was quiet and reverent, and it went unnoticed by anyone else in the chapel. Huddled together and warm in a cold, echoing room.
Feelings were complicated, and Fenris always prefered to deal in absolutes, the things in between were often messy, so easy to get lost in shades of grey that everything becomes a blur.
But Danarius was dead, and now Fenris was living in Kirkwall, in an abandoned mansion, with no reason to stay, but no reason to leave either. It felt as through all the lines were erased and he was wandering blindly towards a destination that might not exist.
He wasn’t certain if what he felt towards Sebastian was love, wasn’t certain if he knew what love felt like, or if Sebastian would love him back. If this feeling would last, if it would fade, or if it would end in tragedy.
But Fenris knew how it felt to be next to Sebastian, and how his heart swelled when they were together. Even if Fenris was broken, like he sometimes thought himself to be, at least his pieces would be in warm hands.
Fenris would follow him anywhere. Even away from Kirkwall, away from Hawke, away from the burning city and the ruins of the chantry. Into the forests outside the walls, until anger that drove Sebastian out started to fade, and he stopped, the shock and trauma finally settling in.
From where they stood on a hill, they could see the city behind them, see the fire and carnage they’d left. Lightning and other bursts of magic would occasionally rise above the city’s walls as the battle inside raged on.
It took Fenris a moment to realize that Sebastian wasn’t beside him anymore, that he was frozen in place, looking back and staring at the ruins of their home. Sebastian watched, but his eyes were empty, he watched but Fenris knew that they didn’t see the same thing.
Sebastian, he saw a home, a second mother, a second family, a second chance, a life that he had dedicated everything to, and he saw it in flames. He saw corpses that could never be given their last rights, innocents trapped in the crossfire, and a place with people he loved, ripped from his fingers despite his desperate hold.
Fenris watched the city burn, and saw ghosts that would haunt Sebastian, the way Danarius haunted him.
Eyes watering, swimming with guilt and despair and hopelessness, Sebastian’s knees began to buckle and Fenris held him as they collapsed onto the forest floor.
Sebastian’s face was dirty, covered in ash and soot and blood, his tears leaving the only clean streaks on his cheeks. Fenris pulled him close, allowing Sebastian to nestle into his shoulder, crying against the leather of his armor and skin of his neck. Fenris wrapped them both in Sebastian’s cloak to stave off the bite of the cold night air.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that nothing was made easy, that they could never just be and be happy, that Sebastian had to lose the chantry after losing his family, that Fenris was back to running again, that their friends were still back there, that everything always fell apart.
Fenris laced his fingers through Sebastian’s hair, because despite what happened, despite all the violence and death and hurt, despite the past, despite the scars, despite everything, they were together.
They were still together. Together they were broken, both a collection of shattered pieces on the ground. It was a mess, they were a mess, but there were warm hands to collect to pieces, to pick each other up. And they’d build a new vase, together, one that was twice as beautiful and twice as strong. And eventually…
Eventually it would be alright.