[Gods. What a noble man Vakares is, Fenris thinks. Noble in the very best of ways, committed to fairness and peace to an almost incomprehensible degree. Dedicated, always, to ensuring that he puts as much good into the world as he can— and gods know he's good at it. Fenris has seen it for himself now that a century has passed: laws intended to halt discrimination or corruption put into place decades ago slowly but surely taking effect. It isn't ever an instantaneous thing, no, and there are problems abound (how many nights has Fenris watched his sire pace in front of the fire, ranting to his two consorts about all the vexations that come from working with petulant, pleasure-seeking nobles), but still, he tries. Every day, he tries, and only now is Fenris getting an inkling of why that is.]
You are a better man than you ever give yourself credit for, you know.
[It isn't an idle compliment, for Fenris doesn't do those.]
Most would have long since fallen into despair or debauchery after enduring such grief. Most have, [he adds wryly.] But not you. Never you. I know you fear sometimes it is not enough, but . . . you a good man, amatus. Do not forget that as you rest.
[And though his heart still aches, he is heartened by the look in Vakares' eyes. It wasn't all bad, no, he imagines not. Perhaps it was not ideal, but what is? And there is little use in mourning the past. Instead: better to be grateful for what they all have now.
But it does help to better understand why Vakares is so intent on joining he and Astarion. It isn't just a sire weary of his two beloved favorites fighting; it's a quiet hope that they neither of them will ever have to be so lonely. And it's not that he couldn't handle loneliness, of course, but . . .
Perhaps he shouldn't have to.
And maybe that shows on his expression, for in the next moment Vakares adds that. Fenris' eyes flick up, his expression a mixture of startled and rueful.]
I will try. I can promise you that. I do not have many hopes for it succeeding, but . . . I will truly try with him. And someday, perhaps, I will tell him of my past.
no subject
You are a better man than you ever give yourself credit for, you know.
[It isn't an idle compliment, for Fenris doesn't do those.]
Most would have long since fallen into despair or debauchery after enduring such grief. Most have, [he adds wryly.] But not you. Never you. I know you fear sometimes it is not enough, but . . . you a good man, amatus. Do not forget that as you rest.
[And though his heart still aches, he is heartened by the look in Vakares' eyes. It wasn't all bad, no, he imagines not. Perhaps it was not ideal, but what is? And there is little use in mourning the past. Instead: better to be grateful for what they all have now.
But it does help to better understand why Vakares is so intent on joining he and Astarion. It isn't just a sire weary of his two beloved favorites fighting; it's a quiet hope that they neither of them will ever have to be so lonely. And it's not that he couldn't handle loneliness, of course, but . . .
Perhaps he shouldn't have to.
And maybe that shows on his expression, for in the next moment Vakares adds that. Fenris' eyes flick up, his expression a mixture of startled and rueful.]
I will try. I can promise you that. I do not have many hopes for it succeeding, but . . . I will truly try with him. And someday, perhaps, I will tell him of my past.