Spellbound

16. As Normal

Nothing had happened between Dorian and Lavellan. In shared silence about the matter, they returned to their daily business as if the dull throb in Lavellan's lower back didn't remind him of the truth at every step.

He slept in the next day, kudos to his late-night assassination plot gone haywire. When Lavellan roused at high noon, he suspected the lack of alarm from the other slaves to be the work of the Tevinter mage. With a grimace at Dorian's empathy that was out of place for a person Lavellan wanted to see dead, Lavellan rolled out of bed.

Fenris sat at the sole desk in the adjoining room and sewed some holes ripped into his uniform during work. By his side sat an unattended pile of laundry that needed washing and Lavellan gladly crouched to take care of it. No matter how much his stomach rumbled, he wasn't ready yet to face Dorian. The memories of the mage's sensual expression illuminated by candlelight were still too fresh in his mind.

"Rough night?" Fenris didn't look up from his work, a curse always at the tip of his tongue whenever the needle threatened to penetrate his flesh. His big hands weren't made for such a delicate task, but Lavellan enjoyed his concentrated frown.

"You could call it that."

For a while, they worked in silence. Fenris cursed at the needle. Lavellan scrubbed his thoughts of Dorian out of his mind via the clothes.

"Varric was here this morning, looking for you. I said you looked exhausted, so he left. Wanted me to tell you farewell for now though. He returned to Kirkwall."

Warmed at the dwarf's regard for him, Lavellan allowed his shoulders to relax. Varric was a good person.

"Did his nosiness bother you? He asked me about my markings before. If told off, he usually understands." Yet Fenris didn't sound irritated.

"I find him to be good company. An unlikely friend." Lavellan rubbed at a stubborn spot.

"Dorian counts on his opinions a lot."

When Lavellan lifted his head, he found Fenris looking at him. For a moment, the elves seized each other as they tried to see behind the facade of the polite friendship upheld between the two of them.

"I found the knife in the kitchen this morning."

Lavellan grimaced, caught in the act. He had wanted no one but himself and Dorian to get caught up in this, but he had been lazy in hiding his tracks.

"I could convince the two girls with me not to panic. From how I saw things, you didn't do anything. What happened last night?"

Lavellan sighed, his gaze lowering to the laundry. He scrubbed away, thinking of the words that wouldn't come.

"I didn't-"

Fenris interrupted him.

"I know what didn't happen. I'm wondering what did happen. Since a knife was involved, I don't doubt your intentions."

Lavellan was glad that he had picked an elf as dismissive as Fenris as his ally. Fenris didn't exactly breathe the spirit of revolution, but he wasn't blinded by his fear of his master, either. The mentioned attack on Dorian brushed past him.

"I planned for worse, but Dorian talked himself out of it. For now, I'm not doing anything," Lavellan confessed. His dejected tone sounded like a pout even to him.

Wary of that reply, Fenris sunk the needle before it would bleed him dry.

"He didn't bewitch you, did he?"

Dorian did, but not in the way Fenris imagined. What he had done was much worse than the skill of any blood mage. Lavellan refuted the chains it wrapped him into.