Spellbound

10. Brooding Away

A couple of days passed with no fresh developments. Lavellan stirred early, spied around the house, and reported the lack of new information to the bull. In the evenings, he sat together with Fenris to listen to the man talk about the house, the slaves, and how Dorian was a better master than others, even when his constant bothersome winks at Lavellan on the rare occasions they spotted each other through the room never ceased.

Lavellan heard enough from the fellow slaves in that time to start believing his broody friend. Dorian was no heartless master, and whenever he had guests from the imperium, their vast differences to him became apparent.

Still, the mage was an incredible nuisance. Just yesterday when he left after dinner, he had brushed his shoulder against Lavellan's in what he pretended to be an accident when truly; he smirked knowingly as soon as Lavellan glared at him. His chuckles whenever Lavellan looked at him as if he planned to poison his drink robbed Lavellan of his last nerves.

He knew Dorian tried to get a rise out of him. It was a test, one meant to challenge Lavellan's perseverance. When the mage had announced his playful involvement in convincing Lavellan of his charms, he hadn't been lying.

Exhausted from yet another day of listening to dozens of buzzing voices all day and trying not to let his eyes stray to Dorian whenever the mage didn't look in his direction, Lavellan retreated to the kitchens to get his meal for the evening. Fenris awaited him there, and he grabbed a wine bottle from the shelf while he nodded at Lavellan to take the bowls. Curious, he carried them after the marred elf as Fenris took him on a journey through the building.

Beyond the lower entrance in the servants' quarters was a staircase leading into a cold cellar. The wine was stored here in tall barrels and dusty shelves. It was dark, but cosy in its silence. Lavellan sighed in relief. Too many people had preoccupied him these past few days.

Fenris sat down in front of the stash on a small stool and beckoned Lavellan to join him. He unstopped the bottle with his teeth while Lavellan divided their food. After a first sip and a satisfied hum, he handed the bottle to Lavellan.

"Are we allowed to drink this?" Lavellan asked as he tasted the rich fruity flavour and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. With a scoff, Fenris accepted the bottle back.

"I stole it, but he won't know. Dorian has grander things to worry about than a bottle of wine."

For a while, they wolfed down their food. Both were starved after a long day of running around, so they were greedy to replenish their energy and sate their bodies until the next day.

"I wanted to talk to you about my past and what has led me to be with Dorian. I know the anger you feel over being trapped, but I had hoped I could offer a new perspective, if you wish," Fenris said once their meal was over and only the bottle remained.

Lavellan set his bowl on the ground with a hum.

"Trying to convince me a future Tevinter magister has even a shred of decency? I'm intrigued. That is not what I would expect to hear from one of our folk."

With a low chuckle, Fenris stretched out his arms. In the torch's light, his ivory hair looked as if set ablaze. The pale markings under his skin exuded a faint blue glimmer.

"I would be the last to defend any mage, especially one on his way to be a magister, but I wish you would understand this. If not for his sake, then mine."

Patient, Lavellan waited for his statement. Fenris seemed like no fool. While Lavellan could imagine him as a loyal slave with a broken mind to heed his master's wishes, he didn't seem to be bound by a spell, forcing him to appreciate Dorian. Aside from those curious scars.