samahl | for fenris

for fenris

Magister Anguis had once belonged to an impressive Tevinter household. Once upon a time, the name had had weight and power behind it. Now, though he still had the title of Magister, it was widely known that his house was deeply in debt. He had sold most of his estate and slaves in effort to save face, keeping only a small house close to the edge of the Starkhaven border and three slaves; one young maid, a footman, and his most prized possession, a Dalish elf whom he kept close to him nearly every moment.

The Dalish elf was called Cervi by the Magister but that was not the name given to him by his Clan. It had been years since he had been called his given name and though Cyril kept it in his heart he was rather protective of who knew it. The two other elven slaves who tended to the house were teenagers, Cassia and Viridi, and even they knew him only by the name their master had given him.

The summer of 9:40 Dragon had been remarkable so far because the south had been plunged to chaos since the Nevarran Accords had been annulled. They were at war, with mages and templars bring death and fire every where they went. That and the tensions between the Empress and her cousin had boiled over into a Civil War that ravaged the Dales.

Chaos in the South brought profit for Tevinter, and Master Anguis had wanted to take advantage of that. He had been so desperate to regain his family's standings that he had even crossed the border into Starkhaven. He allied himself with mercenaries turned slavers and preyed on those caught up in the chaos. He was so set in the idea of finding a fortune by selling the disenfranchised that he had even brought Cassia, Viridi, and 'Cervi' with him - ignoring the fact that technically once they crossed the border the three were technically no longer in bondage. To him they were property, and always would be.

The night was warm, but not nearly as hot as it would have been north of Vyrantium. Cyril was finishing up setting up a bath that he and Anguis would have shared. Cassia and Viridi were cleaning up in the kitchen after creating a modest meal for their master. The Magister was in his study going over papers that tracked the transportation of the slaves his men had found.

He had no idea that those men were now likely dead, nor that the one who had attacked them had found information on him and his location. No one in the house would have dared to believe that the Magister would not make it through the night.

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Cyril has a pack of his own. Despite his tiredness, he offers Fenris a smile and nods.

"It's been a long time since I was nomadic. Hopefully I haven't forgotten everything," he teases lightly, mostly in a self-depreciating sort of way.

The other elf gives a soft huff that's almost laughter.

"We will soon see if you perish in the next few days or not."

He's...probably joking. He sounds like he's joking.

Cyril looks amused by the joke, so he clearly takes it as a joke. "If that happens, please bury me near a tree. I do need to be Dalish in some way, even if it's with my burial."

"Can I use any kind of tree? Does it have to be one of those...um. What're they called? The alienage ones?"

He sounds amused but he's also a little serious too. He has no idea how you Dalish, sorry, Cyril.

"The Vhenadahl?" Cyril asks, and chuckles. "Nah. It can be any old tree. Though, if you happen to find a talking one, that would be pretty good too. Then it could sing of the beauty that was lost with my demise." He seems to enjoy being able to tease Fenris and joke with him.

"And the beauty of the man who buried me."

That does cause a light blush to cross Fenris' cheeks, as he lets out a low, amused chuckle. This was...nice, he found he truly enjoyed it. Enjoyed Cyril's company. Relaxing more every day with him.

"I doubt I would go that close to a singing tree, but if that's the song it would sing, I might make an exception," a smile. "All for you, of course. To sing your memory, and suchlike."

"Oh of course, you aren't the type to worry about the trees singing about you," Cyril teased. "Maybe instead they'll talk about your giant ... sword." And he really shouldn't have made that sound so suggestive, and yet here they were.

A loud, surprised laugh escapes him. He genuinely hand't been expecting that.

"I'm not convinced many people would want to hear that song."

"I might," Cyril comments, still teasing more than anything though. "But I've been told I have a thing for giant swords."

"Is that the case? Duly noted."

There's a small up-curl of his lips at that, perhaps a little appraisal.

"Well, we aught to get moving."

Cyril nods at that. "Lead the way. I'll follow you," he replies. He shifts his pack just to make sure he's ready to head out.

Fenris gave a nod and headed off towards the exist, his own pack light as always, enough to get by on. He walked in relative silence, only occasionally offering insight into anything Cyril might ask him- and the days went much that way- camping out, quiet conversation- occasionally stopping in a village for an inn, a proper bed- and a half decent meal.

It's at one of these that they've finally stopped. Fenris sitting by the fire, sipping some wine, waiting for Cyril to return from...whatever it was he was doing that brought them coin of an evening. He had a bad feeling what that might be, but he wasn't sure how wise it would be to voice it.

Cyril doesn't complain, and he seems happy that he's able to do something to contribute - even though he is basically doing exactly what Fenris is assuming.

He also isn't sleeping. At all. There a moments when they are resting or have stopped where he starts to nod off, but then he will wake himself up and refuse to take a deep sleep.

He enjoys being with Fenris though. A lot more than he can fully admit. And when he comes into the inn and sees Fenris by the fire he smiles and comes over to him.

"Is the wine good?" he asks, as he sits gently next to Fenris. He lets his body rest of a moment, as even inch of him cries out to be allowed to stop and sleep.

For his part, Fenris was certainly feeling more and more at ease around Cyril. He doesn't tense up around him any more, or hedge around conversations. He offers easy smile and comfortable conversation in the presence of the other.

It's one of those easy smiles he offers as Cyril enters, sitting beside him. He slides the bottle over, offering it up.

"It's not bad, given it's such a small place."

Cyril takes the bottle to try some of it for his own. He chuckles gently once he does, not wanting to make any sort of face that could be considered rude.

"Yes, I see what you mean," he says before handing the wine back to Fenris. He isn't saying it's good, but it's not the worst thing he's eaten.

He sits back and feels his eyes start to drop so he leans forward again, forcing his body into a more uncomfortable posture that somehow still manages to look graceful and well poised.

"What time are we planning to head back out tomorrow?"

"I was planning on leaving at first light."

He sits back, watching Cyril thoughtfully, brow creased- concern filtering through. He can see the exhaustion hanging on the other elf. It's almost palpable. It only cements his fears, of what Cyril has been doing to earn them extra coin. It makes him feel sick to his stomach.

"But I think you would benefit from a little extra sleep tonight. You're exhausted."

"I'll be fine," Cyril offers, giving Fenris a soft smile that is meant to be reassuring but probably has some of his exhaustion littered along its corners.

"At first light it is, then," he adds cheerfully, hoping that Fenris will just agree and drop it.

"No," he's not dropping it at all. "You need more sleep. You're exhausted. We can set off later, it's no matter."

He doesn't mirror Cyril's attempt at cheer. The frown remains, unweidling.

"...We should probably talk about this."

The cheer fades from Cyril's face. He presses his lips together and then sits back after a moment. His arms cross over his chest, a protective motion to tuck himself closer and make the space he takes up smaller.

"I don't want to talk about it," he says finally, looking away from Fenris. "I want to keep this going."

Fenris watches the body language, recognising it for what it is- a desire to drop the subject, to ignore what was happening. But he couldn't allow it. Their food, their lodgings were helps with this money, and it made Fenris feel sick to his stomach that this was where it was coming from.

"Well, I don't. I have no intention to use coin from you selling yourself. You're worth better than that, and there are better ways to earn coin."

Cyril's eyes narrow a bit, and for a moment he can't school his face to hide his confusion.

"You think that I'm tired because of that?" he asked, before he could realize that was probably better than the truth and he should just go with it.

It was harder for him to think ahead through the fog of exhaustion in his mind.

Fenris notices the change in demeanour, but remains the same. Unmoving, an edge of anger there, but mostly defiant- mixed in with concern.

"Unless you've started working other odd jobs at the darkest hours of night, yes. Absolutely."

Cyril blinks a couple of times, then after a moment he shakes his head. He seems to slowly be catching up to the fact that Fenris honestly thinks that selling sex is a problem. "Fenris, that's just sex. It doesn't wear me out. It can even be fun, if I find someone I actually like." He rubs at his eyes as he tries to reassure. He doesn't want to make it seem as if he doesn't understand why people might think of it differently, even if there are times he forgets that is the case. "I understand why you might be opposed to the idea and I won't force you to use the coin if you'd rather not, but please don't worry about me when it comes to that. That's really not a big deal to me and it's the only way I know how to earn gold."

He sighs and deflates a bit. "I don't want to sleep because I don't want to wake up." His voice sounds a little hollow, as if admitting this is giving up. In a lot of ways, he assumes it is.

"There are better ways."

Ways that don't echo his life as a slave, slipping back into that existence. Maker knows, he understands that it's difficult, to step away from that- he just wishes Cyril could see that. That he could understand he was worth so much more than that.

Still, he listens, and he understands. His shoulders slacken, and he lets out a long, slow breath, hand moving to rub the back of his head.

"I see," there's another long pause, before he offers-slightly hesitant. "Is there anything I can do to help with that?"

Cyril shakes his head. "I'm not sure. You've already told me this isn't a dream, but I... I just have a hard time believing it. You are..."

He stops, takes a breath. "You are too much like someone I would dream up. This all feels too much like a dream I would have. I don't want to go to sleep here and wake up back there."

Somehow admitting he thinks his life right now is a dream makes everything too frightening. Perhaps putting words to the feeling is enough to make everything end.

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