The last time he met Fenris, it was like the warrior was a different person. Guarded, to be sure, but never so unkind or unsympathetic. If he truly didn’t care for Solival’s well-being, he would have thrown the mage to his captors and fled at the first chance. No, Fenris was better than that. There was good inside of him. Solival had to believe that. The alternative was unthinkable.
Solival flinched at the finality, the uncompromising venom in Fenris’ voice. He averted his eyes quickly, staring at his wound and picking nervously at the dressing.
“You’re right.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “But if I hadn’t–the arrow would’ve–”
It was too terrible a possibility to speak aloud.
The furrow between his brows deepened as he watched the other elf shrink from him, heard the halting disbelief in his tone. He… didn’t want to be the cause of Solival’s dismay. Whatever else he felt, or didn’t feel, that certainty grew within him as he watched the healer fuss with the bandage on his arm, aware with a sudden unfamiliar discomfort that it was there because of him.
“I don’t…” Falling silent, Fenris attempted to gather the words that would convey his regret, but they refused to allow it, restrained by the knot of bitterness and grief that had lodged itself in his chest since he had lost the one who held his heart.
He couldn’t admit to it. Though it was likely not widely known, Fenris considered himself a man of faith, a man of ideals. A slave had little other personal currency, and he had clung to those tenets when he had literally nothing else, not even the flesh he wore. That he would ignore them now, that he would seek his own death, even by another’s hand… it was a worse betrayal than even his sister could have offered.
He had betrayed himself. And yet, he knew he would not stop. Perhaps he couldn’t.
“I apologize.” Fenris finally managed, his voice stilted and rough. “I did not intend for you to be harmed in my stead.”
“It’s alright,” Solival said, automatically, even though Fenris’ apology felt hollow, and words didn’t stitch his wound back together. It wasn’t alright, but it had to be. Solival didn’t accept debts. He wasn’t worth it.
There was an emptiness in Fenris’ voice, one that Solival recognized only because he felt it inside his chest. He saw it in his face, every morning, before he found the courage to smile. What happened to the man by Fenris’ side, who always made him smile?
The realization came much later than it should have, and when it clicked for him, it showed in his face, green eyes large with sympathy.
“I understand what you’re feeling,” he offered, quietly.
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