@fenanera

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗  send 🔥 + a spicy question for my muse.

it's always important to me to remember and call out that fenris is a victim in the first stages of healing when you meet him in da2. it is ugly because it is raw and real (and one of my favorite aspects of him that i do think da2 actually ran with really well despite the therapy-speak -- which isn't even really a bad thing but i digress) and with that ugly raw realness comes the rocky approach to intimacy that we get with him.

he does admit to a romanced hawke that he did not expect to ever want to broach the topic of intimacy with anyone ever following his time in house danarius. but the feelings and the trust he has with hawke opens him up to that concept again. of course, we know that it doesn't really go well in the grand scheme of things, and intimacy continues to scare him (for a good almost four years). the devotion isn't the problem, it's the intimacy. it's the intimacy that brings back a flood of memories, good and bad, and and it's the intimacy that manages to cut through whatever hold on his psyche that the lyrium ritual had. intimacy is powerful. while fenris is not one to shy away from things of powerful nature, he knows when to stop while he's ahead. that shapes how he approaches hawke and their intimacy throughout the game.

it is important to note too that with isabela (in the event that neither of them are romanced by hawke), he still does struggle with this somewhat. it's an easier time than with hawke because it is implied somewhat that it is very much a fwb situation, so the intimacy is a little easier to grapple with, but the struggle is still there.

the key turning point for all avenues of intimacy for fenris is in act three, after danarius and hadriana and everyone that was out to get him are well and gone and dead. it's then that fenris gives himself permission, subconsciously, to really start to unpack everything. of course there is some internal reflection that has to happen, and he does do some of it when realizing that the holds he placed on himself were holds that he, well, placed on himself. it's after all that is said and done where fenris accepts that he does not need to be afraid of intimacy, nor his emotions, no matter how powerful they may be in combination.

if she were smarter she would actually kiss him. or perhaps, it is due to her intelligence that she does not. it’s not that she has never thought about it, she has. more than once. it might have occurred to her as she kissed his cheek.

physical affection doesn't carry as much weight as the emotional one -- there was nothing simply friendly about the pair of them. but she was content in what they shared when so much had been taken from her. at the very least, she was lanaya to him.

@fenanera kisses the inside of her wrist and she feels everything all at once. her fingers twitch against his cheek; outstretched for more than the ghost-like touch against skin.

" does this tire you? " she asks, her voice is gentle and perhaps a tad too soft for directing it at someone whom she considered to be … a close friend? so much more? everything? a safe place?

LANAYA & SOLAS / @fenanera

          HENRI wasn't pacing ━ he was just ... strolling, between the apothecary and tavern. So what if his route was short and his tracks wore a single stride within the snow ? He wasn't pacing. 

          He was thinking, though. Ruminating, really, which wasn't a good habit for any mage. His last conversation with Solas had placed a ... discomforting feeling in his chest; heavy and bitter like a poisoned dagger-tip constantly threatening between his ribs.

          He had better things to do than feed this ... fear. Was it fear ? What, exactly, did he fear ? ━ Many things, openly and honestly, but the words for this one escaped him.

          ❝ Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide, ❞   Henri mumbled to himself, wearing another spot of red against his breastbone. The skin would bruise soon, if he kept attempting to massage out the feeling.

          Faith surged around him, a comforting warmth against the Frostback's cold. For once, its presence only served to deepen his disquieted thoughts.

          ❝ What you said the other day, ❞   Henri said as a start to the conversation when the memories of Ostwick finally caught up to him.   ❝ About expecting a spirit to become a demon, ❞ he elaborated breathlessly.   ❝ Spirits reflect the emotions of man. They are shaped by contact with us. ❞   There is was again, that nagging pierce in his chest. 

          Once again, Henri set a hand to his collarbone, index and middle finger wearing away at the knot.

"...This being simply surmised, we cannot say for certain whether or not a non-mage's attempts at an intimate connection with the Fade will improve their relationship with- Agh...another dead end. Maker, what am I supposed to do..?" The Inquisitor was huffing and rambling beneath her breath again, having come across another pointless documentation of an individual attempting to understand things about magical affairs that they could not normally afford to. However was she going to get better at this whole anchor thing? And...if she didn't improve upon it, how else would she come to understand Terha, and Purpose? She thought maybe this would get her closer, but...

She paused, finding that her routine walking path had taken her to the threshold of just where she might need to be, though...it might have also been her subconscious. All this talk of magic and dreams and the Fade had brought the hermit mage to her mind...

...Perhaps it wouldn't be too much to bother him about the subject? But then...how willing was he to be pestered yet again? She supposed she'd find out, apprehensively slipping her way into his study and offering a quick, habitual bow.

"Afternoon, Solas! I..hope I haven't disturbed you overmuch. I was just passing through when I thought I'd prod you with some recent inquiries!" She was speaking much too formal, as she would back home, though it couldn't be helped when it came to talking to someone who was clearly leagues above her in subject manner.

@haludh (feat. @fenanera) / approval rating. accepting.

It baffles him — this dance of theirs. Or, well, it is less baffling and more ridiculous. Even he does not move so slowly. They'll both be a lot happier if they simply admit how they feel, and maybe needless tragedy can be avoided.

Of course, he already knows that it will not be enough, but he can hope he's wrong.

[ CONVINCING ] our muses are standing outside having a confrontation when it begins to rain, receiver kisses sender to stop their rambling and prove they love them. / >: )

Solas inspires a great many emotions in Felassan. Delight. Frustration. Longing. And in this moment, he has inspired a great deal of exasperation.

He stares at Solas's retreating back, watching as he walks away from him, the proud line of his shoulders as harsh as the line he had tried to draw between them. Like that would undo all the time they'd spent in each other's company and crumble the carefully laid stones of the foundation of their friendship. Like that would be enough for Felassan to look at him like they're strangers. Something like a laugh bubbles up in his throat, the sound incredulous, nearly drowned out by the roll of thunder following the shadows cast by greying clouds over the grassy field growing ever wider between them.

They will not be shadows cast over them.

His stride is quick, long legs crossing the distance until he stands in the path his friend cuts, mirroring his step when he tries to move around him, heedless of the first drops of rain that begin to fall.

"No, Solas," he says, firm, voice absent of any of his usual humor. "What makes you think I'll just let you walk away like that?"

The argument is the same, delivered in that same, cool voice Felassan has heard him use with the courtiers. The tensions in court are too high, the Evanuris engaging in more frequent conflict, all things he has heard from petitioners passing through Mythal's temple. Nothing that he will accept as an answer, even as Solas insists this is for his sake. That nothing good can come from a connection to Mythal's lapdog. That he will not risk Felassan in a game as petty as politics.

If not for the way that cool voice softens on his name, he would be insulted.

The rain is falling harder now, soaking into the cloth of their robes and weighing down the braids in their hair. Felassan's hands come up, palms cradling either side of Solas's face as he tries to use the worsening weather as an excuse to end the conversation there, drawing him in to catch his lips in a kiss.

"No," he says again, only pullling back far enough to speak. "I will not let you walk this path without me. Where you go, I go. Whatever danger there is, we face it together."