Work Text:
They had reached the Vimmark Mountains when Sebastian finally crumbled. Driven by rage and grief, he had tramped with a small company of servants and Chantry survivors, the elf joining them as they left the smoking remains of Kirkwall, covering many miles at speed with minimal food and supplies. Eventually, the rage burnt away, leaving grief with starvation and exhaustion as companions.
Fenris patiently got him out of his armour and made him rest, reminding him that an army marches on its stomach, especially an army consisting of untrained enthusiasts with neither the numbers nor skill to be called a militia. He barked orders at the servants, some of whom were not totally useless. The archery lessons the prince had drilled into him were now most welcome, as the party sourced some more substantial fare than probably-edible plants.
With a couple of hares roasting over a crackling fire, Fenris placed a gentle hand on the prince’s shoulder and shook him awake. Sebastian’s eyes flickered open - he hadn’t even realised he’d fallen asleep. As he slowly adjusted to the dim twilight he smiled.
“My mother used to tell me a fairy story about a maiden being woken by a kiss from a handsome prince.”
The elf snorted. “I’ll remember that for tomorrow morning. You must eat.”
Even as his mind returned to his plans to amass an army and march on Kirkwall, the prince quietly hoped Fenris was not joking.