[It's the first question that stops him short. For a long moment Fenris doesn't say anything. The soft press of warm fingers is only distantly registered (though his ear flicks involuntarily in response, pressing eagerly into that gentle touch), for now his mind is churning.
Finally, quietly:]
She did, yes. Twice.
Once early on, when she was new in her apprenticeship. And later, much later . . . call it five years ago, perhaps. I recall only because I had to take her place . . . call it a week, ten days, she was gone each time.
[He made for such a poor apprentice but such a fantastic conduit; Danarius was never so energized as when he conducted his experiments with Fenris near. Slowly, he continues:]
But Hadriana is an apprentice. She whines if she's tasked with lifting anything heavy, never mind proper combat— and the one time I have seen her fight, it was at a distance, merciless and remote. I do not know . . .
[How would she have gotten a concussion? He's never thought about it before, too preoccupied with his own survival to bother sparing a thought for her. Even now, he realizes, his mind struggles to linger on the topic: his thoughts keep flitting away, darting towards— oh, anything. Danarius. His estates. Astarion in his arms and how warm he feels. Hadriana, and he has to fight each time to wrench them back.]
Is that . . .
[Gods, even thinking too much about these concussions is a struggle now. His mind feels foggy, his brain struggling through the most basic thoughts. He spoke slowly before because of emotion, but now it's an effort to piece words together. Think of something else, anything else, and the urge is so strong his grip on Astarion goes tight, fingers digging into his body without his realizing it.]
no subject
Finally, quietly:]
She did, yes. Twice.
Once early on, when she was new in her apprenticeship. And later, much later . . . call it five years ago, perhaps. I recall only because I had to take her place . . . call it a week, ten days, she was gone each time.
[He made for such a poor apprentice but such a fantastic conduit; Danarius was never so energized as when he conducted his experiments with Fenris near. Slowly, he continues:]
But Hadriana is an apprentice. She whines if she's tasked with lifting anything heavy, never mind proper combat— and the one time I have seen her fight, it was at a distance, merciless and remote. I do not know . . .
[How would she have gotten a concussion? He's never thought about it before, too preoccupied with his own survival to bother sparing a thought for her. Even now, he realizes, his mind struggles to linger on the topic: his thoughts keep flitting away, darting towards— oh, anything. Danarius. His estates. Astarion in his arms and how warm he feels. Hadriana, and he has to fight each time to wrench them back.]
Is that . . .
[Gods, even thinking too much about these concussions is a struggle now. His mind feels foggy, his brain struggling through the most basic thoughts. He spoke slowly before because of emotion, but now it's an effort to piece words together. Think of something else, anything else, and the urge is so strong his grip on Astarion goes tight, fingers digging into his body without his realizing it.]
. . . what else would it be, if not a concussion?