❛ I have survived, but I have not been spared. ❜ - Anders & Fenris
ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛs / ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜʟᴇss / @threetimessaved
He can still feel the smoke in his lungs, the heat of the blaze at his back. After years spent running he’d found a reason to stop, only to be sent on the run again. Fenris doesn’t regret standing at Hawke’s side —— Hawke had stood by his, after all —— but when he casts his gaze toward the mage, all he can think is why. Why was he still here? Why was he still alive? Why did he walk beside them, knowing what he had done?
His hand snaps forward and seizes the mage by the front of his robes, twisting until he’s dragged Anders in. Snarling at him like some rabid thing, only distantly aware that the others have stopped to look at him. He had not hated Anders —— disliked him, yes, distrusted him, yes. Hate had been reserved for Danarius, for Hadriana, for the Magisters who had seen fit to dehumanize and torture and torment him. Anders was a fool, but he had not been hated.
“Do not speak as if you are some victim in any of this!” Oh he could kill him. He wants to kill him. In his more childish moments he’s daydreamed about ripping the heart from his chest, but there was never any intent until this moment. “You were spared. You still draw breath. You are alive when by all accounts you deserve to be put down —— there are many who do not have such a luxury because of what you did.”
His stomach twists, sick with anger and frustration and guilt. Guilt that even he, privy to all the dangers of magic and its power to corrupt, had not thought Anders capable of such an atrocity. He should have seen it, should have known… And yet he had been just as complacent.
He withdraws his hand and steps back, green eyes focused on the other. “Be grateful I don’t do what Hawke should have done and remove your head from your shoulders. You had my pity once —— no more.”
