[Well, that's the question, isn't it? The trouble is: Fenris doesn't have an answer, not really. He cannot say it's out of pity, for that isn't true and sends the wrong message: poor you, so neglected you need a hired bit of help to be your friend. And he cannot say, too, that Astarion has earned it, for the fact of the matter is that he hasn't. That look of fear before was not wholly unjustified, not really (and Fenris was not wholly sorry to see it, if you want to know the truth). He's nipped at Fenris' heels from the moment they met, delighting in petty bits of vengeance, thrilling to earn any kind of reaction— for gods' sake, the brat had outright drugged him their first night together. You can get down on your knees and entertain us, and dazed though he was, Fenris hasn't forgotten a single moment about that night.
So why, then? He's silent for a time, focusing on his task, letting his mind wander. His thoughts drift towards that tutor, hired solely to shut someone up. Not a terrible man. Not abusive or cruel or vicious, not the way some can get. Simply terribly, horribly inept, and yet paid such a lofty sum because he knew how to keep his student occupied.
No wonder the tiger throws himself against the cage's bars. No wonder he snarls and seethes at yet another keeper's arrival. And yet Fenris does not quite know how to say all that, not really. Not without delving into his own past and revealing far more than he wishes to.]
I am to be your tutor now, in addition to your bodyguard. And unlike that drunken mess, there are things I can teach you— if you are willing to learn. Things like . . .
[For a moment his mind runs blank— but ah, he is skilled. Not learned, but very, very good at what he does.]
How to defend yourself. How to wield a dagger or aim a gun without hurting yourself in the process. How to walk soundlessly if you wish, or learn how to spot an assassin a crowd. How to utilize almost any weapon, and conversely, how to counter it. How to strengthen your muscles, and in that way get rid of the excess energy I assume plagues you.
[Young thing, and mercifully, he doesn't say so, but there's something knowing in his gaze. Setting the cloth down, his fingers linger for just half a moment longer than they should against that soft chin before dropping away.]
Consider this an olive branch. Do not treat me as jailer to be seduced or humiliated out of a position, and in turn, I will . . .
[He cannot ignore his father's orders. But still Fenris hesitates, and then finally settles on:]
We will see how much freedom you are granted as the weeks pass. If nothing else, I do not intend for you to spend all your days and nights locked in your rooms.
[Surely they can go on daytrips. Drinking a pint or two at early evening. Surely his lord father doesn't intend for Astarion to be totally sterile— simply less raucous.]
no subject
So why, then? He's silent for a time, focusing on his task, letting his mind wander. His thoughts drift towards that tutor, hired solely to shut someone up. Not a terrible man. Not abusive or cruel or vicious, not the way some can get. Simply terribly, horribly inept, and yet paid such a lofty sum because he knew how to keep his student occupied.
No wonder the tiger throws himself against the cage's bars. No wonder he snarls and seethes at yet another keeper's arrival. And yet Fenris does not quite know how to say all that, not really. Not without delving into his own past and revealing far more than he wishes to.]
I am to be your tutor now, in addition to your bodyguard. And unlike that drunken mess, there are things I can teach you— if you are willing to learn. Things like . . .
[For a moment his mind runs blank— but ah, he is skilled. Not learned, but very, very good at what he does.]
How to defend yourself. How to wield a dagger or aim a gun without hurting yourself in the process. How to walk soundlessly if you wish, or learn how to spot an assassin a crowd. How to utilize almost any weapon, and conversely, how to counter it. How to strengthen your muscles, and in that way get rid of the excess energy I assume plagues you.
[Young thing, and mercifully, he doesn't say so, but there's something knowing in his gaze. Setting the cloth down, his fingers linger for just half a moment longer than they should against that soft chin before dropping away.]
Consider this an olive branch. Do not treat me as jailer to be seduced or humiliated out of a position, and in turn, I will . . .
[He cannot ignore his father's orders. But still Fenris hesitates, and then finally settles on:]
We will see how much freedom you are granted as the weeks pass. If nothing else, I do not intend for you to spend all your days and nights locked in your rooms.
[Surely they can go on daytrips. Drinking a pint or two at early evening. Surely his lord father doesn't intend for Astarion to be totally sterile— simply less raucous.]