A few days ago I found Gideon Emery on twitter and jokingly tweeted him
saying “ hi Fenris :)” along with a gif of Fenris raising a bottle of
Agriggio Today he replied saying “cheers!” I started hysterically
laughing and shaking. Fenris is one of my favorite Dragon Age characters
is the whole franchise. My day is made!
❛ you’re a weapon and weapons don’t weep. ❜ (pre-kirkwall fenris)
Trigger warning for abuse.
He writhes with it. The pain bleeds
inside his bones, claws in his skull. Blood bubbles underneath the markings,
seeps from the edges. He grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut as every inch
of him shudders and shakes. Stretching out his hands, his fingers, trying to
stop the shaking. He can feel his very skin scream. It burns, it burns, an
unquenchable heat that scorches him from the inside out and yet he’s cold – his
teeth chattering, shivering, breathing fog. His clothes are soaked through and
through with blood sweat, his hair sticks in strands against his forehead. He
would give anything to make it stop.
His eyes open when he hears the
voice in the hallway, approaching the small room they’ve put him in. The ache
mixes with dread. He knows that voice. He knows
that voice. Curling into a ball, trying to make himself small, trying to hide
in any way he can. “Why have you not risen?” It’s a demand that’s spoken by
iron, a demand that stirs the fear in his heart. He does all he can to suppress
the howl when a hand wraps around his wrist, tugs hard. He barely feels his arm
twisting. He only feels the fire of fingers on his skin, biting into the
markings, stabbing into him.
Danarius’s lip curls in disgust
once he lets him go, wipes his bloodied hand on his robes. He kneels on the ground
before him, this creature so pathetic and weak, and that trembling. He holds his hands to his chest as he slowly turns his
gaze upwards, dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. The strike is
swift. Stinging against his cheek, and the markings flash a sickly violet. “Never
raise your eyes to me,” he tells him. “You will learn your place quickly,
“Stand up,” Danarius snaps. He
does as he asks. His legs will not steady, his spine will not straighten. Lines
of lyrium wind his bones, puncture his skin. The ache, the pain, the hurt, the
agony and the misery. Shoulders hunched, staring at his own feet as he sways.
There’s fog in his eyes, a spinning in his head. He staggers as he struggles to
stay upright. “Stand up.” Parts of
him flicker, and the blood drips down his hands. Drops fall from his fingers
onto the stone below. “Pathetic.” He is failing his master.
That hand around his wrist once
again, the fire, the blaze, the burn, the scorch. “There are ways of making you
listen.” Danarius says it in a low tone, so close to his ear, and he can hear
the sickly smile in his every word. He gets his first taste of magic. It
spreads wild through the markings, and the room illuminates with him. He never
thought it could be worse. This time, he cannot stop it. The scream is ripped
from him as his back twists and arches, hands clenching into fists, head thrown
back with the agony of it.
Lightning courses through him,
and he knows, he knows – my master, my
master. It’s what he deserves. He did not obey. The magic crashes into
silence and he falls to his knees. Smoke rises from his skin, the smell of
burning flesh. The noises tumble from his throat, whimpers and whines, tears
dripping down his face. Danarius kneels before him. “You are a weapon. My weapon. And weapons do not weep,”
Danarius snarls, his hand in a crushing grip on his jaw, fingers bruising into
“I must give you a name,” he
says. His ears ring, and each noise is like a scratch upon stone. The voice
fades in and out, in and out, as his vision remains a whitewash. “You will be
my little wolf.” Hands still on his face, that terrible ache. “My little wolf.”
He just wants it to stop. His body is heavy, weighed down with something he
cannot see but can so deeply feel. “My little wolf.” He cannot run. The touch,
the hands, the sting and make it stop, please, make it stop.
“Fenris.” White slips into
blackness, but the ringing still remains. “Fenris!” Hands on his face, a weight
on his body. He gasps and heaves with much needed breath as he forces himself
to sit upright. Hair in strands against his forehead, back slick with sweat.
Squeezing eyes closed and opening them again, but the world still spins and he
cannot – “Fenris, look at me.” Those hands are still on his face. A gentle
warmth against the cold of him, thumbs brushing against his cheeks. Squeezing
eyes closed and opening them again. Squeezing eyes closed and opening them
His shoulders rise and fall
with heavy breath and he realizes that she is straddling him. It is her touch
on him. He reaches for her with shaking hands, winds into her tunic. Hawke
pulls him against her, his head buried against her chest. She holds him
tightly, smoothing down wild hair with one hand while the other rubs small
circles onto his back. “You’re with me,” she says, “you’re safe.” His hands
move upwards, desperately holding to her, his fists shaking against her
shoulder blades. He cannot bear to close his eyes again. Every time he does, he
sees only that dungeon. “I have you.” Whispering it into his ear, the softest
murmur. “You’re safe.”
He struggles to control his
breathing, with that terrible rise and fall, to stop the shaking. “Fenris,” she
says, “it’s okay. I love you.” Focusing on the heartbeat underneath her ribs.
There are no orders. No demands. No master. He is Fenris and he is free. He
holds her ever tighter, and the shaking returns in full. Hawke kisses the crown
of his head as he begins to weep. “I love you.”
Confession: Carver seems to be a really interesting companion to have around, but I never got to experience him as one because my Hawkes are always warriors or rogues. It’s a shame I can’t have a playthrough with both Bethany and Carver by my Hawke’s side.
hey so i want to cry because i hate it that i know dragon age 2 is fiction but i still feel uncomfortable when people say exploding a chantry is a necessary act of violence
like??? if it’s just a government building somehow im okay but a chantry is a place of worship, despite the institution itself being shitty, there are genuine believers who are not part of the abuse!!!
i live in a shitty country that uses religion as an excuse to be shitty and murderous
im part of the majority, and yet i still don’t fit because i’m not the orthodox kind of muslim, cause im fucking queer and i don’t think i can handle being here anymore
BUT I STILL HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE SAY DESTROYING A PLACE OF WORSHIP IS NECESSARY it hits too fucking close to home
defend anders! support him! but don’t you dare act like it’s okay to say it’s a necessary act for freedom! don’t you dare act like it doesn’t happen in real life!
if you think fiction affects reality, that representation matter, don’t you fucking dare