ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀɪɴs ᴀʀᴇ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ...

CARRD. SIDEBLOG. HEADCANONS.

All this to say, I'm open to plotting (though admittedly slow to respond at times), and if I've followed you, I'm either familiar with the setting your character is from or at the very least am interested in it.

All of his subtle displays of dismay culminate here: on the brink of departure, away from the din of the city so that they needn't glance over their shoulders as often or think of interruptions. Better that their surroundings suit the occasion.

After all, when they become so close, there is no one else. Fenris treats Iorweth as rightfully singular, with thought of others or watching fading away. Who else feels his body become pliant? When passion becomes longing, loving, turned utterly gentle by the end. It's silent plea that knows itself to be in vain upon Iorweth's lips.

There is nothing else to be done about it. Iorweth is going away, and Fenris cannot join despite a want to, kept in the city axiously awaiting a meeting that had been so long in the making.

He seems to sink down into his displeasure then. Withdrawn from that closeness, with a soft grimace that he half-hides under a curtain of hair, Fenris takes a beat too long to find anything to say at all.

❝ Go then, ❞ he relents sternly, though not unkindly, with words that are equally a guilty admittance to his quiet protests from before. It had occurred to him in those moments after he pulled away how unfair he'd been. As much as he'd tried to curb his more overt feelings, he surely had not been so slight that the fox had missed them entirely. It's not right. Not when he can recall so few times Iorweth had ever made him feel guilty for leaving.

Even so, the feeling that they had only just come back together sits in him like a pit in his stomach.

Arms now crossed, he takes a few more steps away then, to get a better look at his companion, eyeing him almost suspiciously, but attentively too. If nothing else, he and Fenris certainly share a common thread that is survival — for every hunter that has sought coin and sport for his own hide, there is surely someone out there somewhere who would have Iorweth hanged ( or perhaps worse even than that ). Yet here they both stand. His doubt is only for himself, and his ability to say what he means, precisely the way he means it.

I worry. And I will miss you.

happy birthday !!! hope u have a good one !

For the record, I lean towards the latter version of the ritual for my portrayal. It's got more lore developed for it, and I generally prefer it, except sometimes in crossover/alternate verses where it might clash too with other canon.

But like...... they're still a pretty cool character...

Now that I've watched a minute and a half long video narrated by a pixelated spoon that somehow sums up Fenris after everything, I just want to talk about it a bit.

He'll say as much to Hawke: this freedom tastes like ashes. He is free, but attaining his notion of freedom didn't grant him a life that came with fulfillment in place already. In fact, it strips away a large part of what he'd always known living to be like, leaving uncountable blank pages for him to fill with barely any idea of what to write. This is, of course, what he wanted. He wouldn't go back to the familiarity of slavery or fleeing from that abuse for anything, but still... There was certainty, and direction, respectively, in those things. The uncertainty is better by any measure, and he knows it, but that doesn't make it any less disorienting or scary.

In a setting where the safety of an elf just living their life is not a guarantee, the parts of himself that formed from a need to survive don't become entirely obsolete. Nor has he failed over the years to develop any skills or personality unrelated to survival. But the way it all feels to him when everything sinks in is different from objective reality.

Not to mention, this happens at the same time, during the same event, that he severs the last tangible connection he has to his family and past (potential through killing that connection, depending on player choices, with his own hands), which is something he had a clear emotional investment in. And not too long after he ends up needing to flee the city that had become a stable home for him for years.

Essentially, in his life: familiarity, some form of stability, and emotional investments are all lost, pretty much all at the same time.

Being made to feel small under the light of the full moons does not feel like a cruelty. Fenris thinks it to himself as he watches on, face upturned, his white hair glowing in that light. Small men forcing others to be smaller, and all the ways they are fractured in the process is nothing new . . . This smallness simply is the way of things, though there is something lonely about it still.

There would be loneliness, that is. Grounding himself some, Fenris turns his attention to Link, sitting only a short way from him at the base of a old tree at the very edge of a thicket, eyes now closed. Only moments ago he'd been awake. Selfishly, disappointment wells up in himself, yet it is quick to pass, leaving no trace in spite of his lingering want for company.

It had been a long day. He would not try to deny Link his sleep. In moving to join him, however, he notices eyes on him once more. An apology is quick to form under his breath, before Link interrupts with his claim.

Just resting his eyes?

Fenris scoffs, showing no hint of any harsh judgment that might turn the sound into something it is not. It is merely quiet disbelief.

❝ There is nothing out here worth you losing sleep over. ❞ He settles in, shoulder brushing his companion’s, and watches his face a moment longer. Traces of affection shine subtly in his own look, with only moon and starlight to reveal them. It may be that Link is telling the truth . . .

They had heard on the way here stories of falling stars and lingering holes in the sky. But Fenris feels nothing in his flesh. Not even the slightest prickling sting that might be whispers of lyrium singing out to familiar strangeness. It seems the tales were merely that.

❝ Even if there were... ❞ He gestures to the utterly empty clearing laid out before them, as if to explain further. He would wake Link, should anything exceptional happen. Of course, he also knows better than most, what other sorts of things might keep one from seeking needed rest.