[There's so much to remember in moments like these.
The first layer: professionalism. Analysis. Bending all his mind around this mystery, not because it is his duty to solve it, but to prevent it from happening again. Analyzing everything from angles to motivations, vulnerable spots and potential disasters, and he is good at it, insofar as one can be good. The truth is, there's only so many precautions one can take, and it's ever been a struggle to balance between his masters' whims and his own understanding of safety. I will not let them intimidate me into cowardice, I'll go down to the market either way, Danarius' father had said once, and never mind that there were so many potential security threats that it made his head ache. Fenris had slept for ten hours after that trip, cold sweat drenching his clothes and all of him sick with prolonged tension. He gives what advice he can, knowing that there is so much more that cannot be controlled.
The second: safety. Not Astarion's, but his own. Not safety from guns or knives, but from phrases like consider a third of your debt repaid. He keeps his expression stoic even as his head dips down in deferential, silent gratitude: thank you, my lord, and he cannot be too giddy nor too indifferent. Pleased, but not vulgarly so; grateful, but not slavering. That debt can be tacked on as easily as it was erased, and men like his lord can be so fickle when all the dust has settled. They spend too much time ruminating once all the fear and gratitude has faded and find they didn't care for his attitude, or the glint in his eye, or just him in general . . . and so such a reward doesn't last.
And don't ever look smug at the humiliation of another. Don't ever think that just because you're the favorite right now doesn't mean you can't fall from grace. Don't ever look too smug, too arrogant, too happy, too anything, for the whims of the patriar are endlessly fickle, and only a fool thinks he can play his masters forever.
And finally, the third: his own feelings. The little shriek of terror that only began once all the dust settled, the urge to glance over and check on Astarion again and again, the nausea of what might have happened and how close it all came— smother them all. Keep them from ever rising, not just because his feelings are wildly unprofessional, but because this was too close. It's a miracle they weren't discovered; it's a miracle Astarion isn't dead or kidnapped, and he will have to process the shock and relief and grief and anger that backlashes from it. But not yet, little wolf. Not yet. Not until you know you aren't being watched; not until you know that your lord isn't watching you like a hawk for any kind of tell.]
I suspect it will take time to find this assailant, and subsequently, whomever paid him. A saferoom would not be a bad idea to establish, but it is unrealistic to expect Astarion to stay in there until this is resolved.
[And here, now, is why it's a bad idea to get involved with your charges. What he knows will please Astarion and what he knows to be the best way forward are at odds, and it's not that he's in risk of choosing the former . . . but gods, it's hard not to glance over apologetically as he says it.
But he doesn't. Eyes straight ahead, spine rigid, voice flat and steady: he is the picture of professionalism.]
But I would limit external activities to places which are already secure. A club would be a poor idea, but a visit to a friend's house less so, so long as proper precautions were taken. Background checks on local staff wherever he might go, staying out during the daytime instead of venturing out at night . . . and lingering in spaces which are closed off and have more than one exit.
[A pause, and then:]
I would extend those rules to your entire family. Simply because Astarion was the target this time does not mean he is the only one they are interested in. For now, their motivations are unknown, and perhaps they care little which heir they take, so long as they might ransom them. For that matter: their motivations might be utterly unrelated. Professional does not always equate to sane, and there are many people in the world who do not care for motivations so long as they're paid. It may be an attempt at a political stunt, or a twisted attempt to appease a celebrity . . . [Fenris shrugs one shoulder.] Until we have more information, my advice is simply to treat all incidents with due wariness, and linger in safe places as much as possible.
no subject
The first layer: professionalism. Analysis. Bending all his mind around this mystery, not because it is his duty to solve it, but to prevent it from happening again. Analyzing everything from angles to motivations, vulnerable spots and potential disasters, and he is good at it, insofar as one can be good. The truth is, there's only so many precautions one can take, and it's ever been a struggle to balance between his masters' whims and his own understanding of safety. I will not let them intimidate me into cowardice, I'll go down to the market either way, Danarius' father had said once, and never mind that there were so many potential security threats that it made his head ache. Fenris had slept for ten hours after that trip, cold sweat drenching his clothes and all of him sick with prolonged tension. He gives what advice he can, knowing that there is so much more that cannot be controlled.
The second: safety. Not Astarion's, but his own. Not safety from guns or knives, but from phrases like consider a third of your debt repaid. He keeps his expression stoic even as his head dips down in deferential, silent gratitude: thank you, my lord, and he cannot be too giddy nor too indifferent. Pleased, but not vulgarly so; grateful, but not slavering. That debt can be tacked on as easily as it was erased, and men like his lord can be so fickle when all the dust has settled. They spend too much time ruminating once all the fear and gratitude has faded and find they didn't care for his attitude, or the glint in his eye, or just him in general . . . and so such a reward doesn't last.
And don't ever look smug at the humiliation of another. Don't ever think that just because you're the favorite right now doesn't mean you can't fall from grace. Don't ever look too smug, too arrogant, too happy, too anything, for the whims of the patriar are endlessly fickle, and only a fool thinks he can play his masters forever.
And finally, the third: his own feelings. The little shriek of terror that only began once all the dust settled, the urge to glance over and check on Astarion again and again, the nausea of what might have happened and how close it all came— smother them all. Keep them from ever rising, not just because his feelings are wildly unprofessional, but because this was too close. It's a miracle they weren't discovered; it's a miracle Astarion isn't dead or kidnapped, and he will have to process the shock and relief and grief and anger that backlashes from it. But not yet, little wolf. Not yet. Not until you know you aren't being watched; not until you know that your lord isn't watching you like a hawk for any kind of tell.]
I suspect it will take time to find this assailant, and subsequently, whomever paid him. A saferoom would not be a bad idea to establish, but it is unrealistic to expect Astarion to stay in there until this is resolved.
[And here, now, is why it's a bad idea to get involved with your charges. What he knows will please Astarion and what he knows to be the best way forward are at odds, and it's not that he's in risk of choosing the former . . . but gods, it's hard not to glance over apologetically as he says it.
But he doesn't. Eyes straight ahead, spine rigid, voice flat and steady: he is the picture of professionalism.]
But I would limit external activities to places which are already secure. A club would be a poor idea, but a visit to a friend's house less so, so long as proper precautions were taken. Background checks on local staff wherever he might go, staying out during the daytime instead of venturing out at night . . . and lingering in spaces which are closed off and have more than one exit.
[A pause, and then:]
I would extend those rules to your entire family. Simply because Astarion was the target this time does not mean he is the only one they are interested in. For now, their motivations are unknown, and perhaps they care little which heir they take, so long as they might ransom them. For that matter: their motivations might be utterly unrelated. Professional does not always equate to sane, and there are many people in the world who do not care for motivations so long as they're paid. It may be an attempt at a political stunt, or a twisted attempt to appease a celebrity . . . [Fenris shrugs one shoulder.] Until we have more information, my advice is simply to treat all incidents with due wariness, and linger in safe places as much as possible.