[He does think so too. Observant creature; so little slips Fenris' watch (and yet he is quiet more often than not even when unearthing yet another find, sharing only what feels relevant to the subject at hand), that keen bloodhound nose pushed just into the slantlines of Vakares' throat— underneath the shadow of two old, exceptionally haggard scars. Companionable closeness what fits them together in positioning unnatural to them otherwise; a knee here, an elbow there. His hand absently settling atop the crown of Fenris' head, smoothing down residually tousled strands of hair still displaced by Astarion's grip.
A usurper. Ah.
The term isn't necessarily wrong.]
You never had the chance to know him before I found you. [Stating the obvious, and yet— sometimes it's the obvious needs stating.] Worse is not the right term, but he has always struggled with the concept of certainty, and it manifests....[Hm.] It is at its most volatile when there is another his fears can flock to.
He would attack the other members of our coven when he thought I would not see it. [And the topic is grave, but there is such a note of housed-in lightness within his tenor, recognizable to anyone that knows its muted outline.] And I do not mean his spiteful tantrums, or his habit of....latching. [Like an unruly denmate, how viciously he bites, his little firstsired.]
He sought their deaths, Fenris, and he felt the consequences were bearable.
The only thing that stayed that habit was the eventual understanding that they did not come close to matching his favor. That hierarchical power was his solace.
But you— oh, he could not overlook your arrival, nor could he misinterpret its significance. The fact that for once, there was an equal nestled at his side. In all that time, you have not returned to me so gravely wounded that I feared for your safety. [He lashes out. He seethes at times, none of which has slipped Vakares' notice— but he does not tear with locked-on jaws; the urge to mutilate isn't there.
That holds so much more weight than what it seems.]
no subject
A usurper. Ah.
The term isn't necessarily wrong.]
You never had the chance to know him before I found you. [Stating the obvious, and yet— sometimes it's the obvious needs stating.] Worse is not the right term, but he has always struggled with the concept of certainty, and it manifests....[Hm.] It is at its most volatile when there is another his fears can flock to.
He would attack the other members of our coven when he thought I would not see it. [And the topic is grave, but there is such a note of housed-in lightness within his tenor, recognizable to anyone that knows its muted outline.] And I do not mean his spiteful tantrums, or his habit of....latching. [Like an unruly denmate, how viciously he bites, his little firstsired.]
He sought their deaths, Fenris, and he felt the consequences were bearable.
The only thing that stayed that habit was the eventual understanding that they did not come close to matching his favor. That hierarchical power was his solace.
But you— oh, he could not overlook your arrival, nor could he misinterpret its significance. The fact that for once, there was an equal nestled at his side. In all that time, you have not returned to me so gravely wounded that I feared for your safety. [He lashes out. He seethes at times, none of which has slipped Vakares' notice— but he does not tear with locked-on jaws; the urge to mutilate isn't there.
That holds so much more weight than what it seems.]