[It isn't where he expected the conversation to go, but it suits him. Lying here in the darkness, maybe it's easier to be honest. Not raw, not baring their souls, no, they do not know one another well enough for that (he knows no one well enough for that)— but the words come a little easier now than they do in daylight. The thick, choking knot of responsibility does not sit quite so heavily on his breastbone, equal parts terrifying and dread-inducing.
Fenris stares up at the dark ceiling. His head sinks a little further into the plush pillow, and he wonders what it is he thinks he's doing. You don't even do that well, and he cannot deny it, not when he lies here. And yet it only feels like the wrong move when he thinks about leaving: pulling those sheets back and retreating to his corner, leaving Astarion alone in his misery.]
Simply because you are not privy to those desires does not mean they do not exist. I want many things, Astarion.
[Spoken after a period of silence, his voice pitched low. And maybe this conversation is destined to be full of pauses, for it initially seems as if he might not elaborate. But then:]
I have never . . .
[No. How much does he want to reveal? Offering up too much feels like a mistake, even now— but it's so hard to explain it all without delving into his past. Fenris sighs softly and starts again.]
You were not wrong, that first day. Your father did buy me. He bought my debt.
[He murmurs the price, the number long since branded into his mind. It's a considerable sum even for nobility: more than a new car or an indulgent toy to throw away weeks later when it no longer amuses. It's the kind of money that ruins companies or silences people for a lifetime; the kind of debt that men drown in if they try to overcome it— legally, anyway.]
Before then, I was property. And just as you would not expect your beloved phone to have dreams or desires . . . so too I was not encouraged to try and form my own.
You ask me what I desire? But perhaps it would be easier to say that I have fears, and they are what guide me. Each day I wake up and face a job so laughably easier than my last that I fear what it means. I fear that I have failed, or that this is a test— or worse still, a joke at my expense. I fear that your father will tire of me, or find me not worth my price.
[I fear that he has more use for me than he has yet revealed, but he doesn't dare say that. Moment of camaraderie or not, Astarion is his father's son, and surely he will not appreciate as-yet-unfounded slander against him. Fenris sighs again.]
I fear that the worst is yet to come. That, indeed, someone will try to throw me out. That this existence, which is the most peaceful I have ever known, will come to an end.
. . . and I suppose, in wake of all that . . . what I desire most is stability.
[And it's too much. It's too much information that slipped past lips too eager to share, for he has never been asked this question before. It's embarrassing; it's dangerous, and he grimaces in the dark.]
no subject
Fenris stares up at the dark ceiling. His head sinks a little further into the plush pillow, and he wonders what it is he thinks he's doing. You don't even do that well, and he cannot deny it, not when he lies here. And yet it only feels like the wrong move when he thinks about leaving: pulling those sheets back and retreating to his corner, leaving Astarion alone in his misery.]
Simply because you are not privy to those desires does not mean they do not exist. I want many things, Astarion.
[Spoken after a period of silence, his voice pitched low. And maybe this conversation is destined to be full of pauses, for it initially seems as if he might not elaborate. But then:]
I have never . . .
[No. How much does he want to reveal? Offering up too much feels like a mistake, even now— but it's so hard to explain it all without delving into his past. Fenris sighs softly and starts again.]
You were not wrong, that first day. Your father did buy me. He bought my debt.
[He murmurs the price, the number long since branded into his mind. It's a considerable sum even for nobility: more than a new car or an indulgent toy to throw away weeks later when it no longer amuses. It's the kind of money that ruins companies or silences people for a lifetime; the kind of debt that men drown in if they try to overcome it— legally, anyway.]
Before then, I was property. And just as you would not expect your beloved phone to have dreams or desires . . . so too I was not encouraged to try and form my own.
You ask me what I desire? But perhaps it would be easier to say that I have fears, and they are what guide me. Each day I wake up and face a job so laughably easier than my last that I fear what it means. I fear that I have failed, or that this is a test— or worse still, a joke at my expense. I fear that your father will tire of me, or find me not worth my price.
[I fear that he has more use for me than he has yet revealed, but he doesn't dare say that. Moment of camaraderie or not, Astarion is his father's son, and surely he will not appreciate as-yet-unfounded slander against him. Fenris sighs again.]
I fear that the worst is yet to come. That, indeed, someone will try to throw me out. That this existence, which is the most peaceful I have ever known, will come to an end.
. . . and I suppose, in wake of all that . . . what I desire most is stability.
[And it's too much. It's too much information that slipped past lips too eager to share, for he has never been asked this question before. It's embarrassing; it's dangerous, and he grimaces in the dark.]
What do you want?