It isn't about a lack of trust and more a clear memory. You told me you were a fearsome predator, and when I asked for specifics, you played it off and we got side-tracked.
[He drawls it out in retort, his smile a little easier to come now that they've made it back to Kirkwall proper. He has visited the Gallows a thousand times over the past decade, but it never fails to make him uneasy. No matter what his views on mages are (and they have not changed in the past few years, only growing more sour with his own bitterness), he cannot deny the ghosts that haunt those halls, nor the blood soaked into the stone. It's unnerving, and add to the fact that they were, in fact, breaking out illegaly, and oh, his nerves were more than a little strained.
(And was there a memory there? A flashback to a thousand different lectures, Anders' voice equal parts smug and disgusted? No. No, for Fenris will not allow it).]
In any case: I bring it up only because I have a second gift for you. Do not grow used to this; I am not going to always give you presents.
[But he does not mind spending the coin so Astarion can have a few things to start off his new life. And this isn't exactly how he meant to give this, but . . . oh, hell, he isn't very good at sentiment on the best of days, and there's no point in delaying further for the sake of ill-managed surprise. With a little grimace of annoyance at himself, he brings them to a halt and draws out of his pack—
A blade.
A dagger, well oiled and well made, sheathed in leather and with a gleaming handle. Raven Armory is inscribed in an impossibly spider-thin font along the hilt, for Fenris had gone to a reputable armorer. What would be the point in giving some rusted blade barely better than a kitchen knife?]
Here. Keep it on you, for my sake if nothing else. I have no doubt you are a fearsome thing with those teeth, but a knife will deter some idiots from trying anyway.
no subject
[He drawls it out in retort, his smile a little easier to come now that they've made it back to Kirkwall proper. He has visited the Gallows a thousand times over the past decade, but it never fails to make him uneasy. No matter what his views on mages are (and they have not changed in the past few years, only growing more sour with his own bitterness), he cannot deny the ghosts that haunt those halls, nor the blood soaked into the stone. It's unnerving, and add to the fact that they were, in fact, breaking out illegaly, and oh, his nerves were more than a little strained.
(And was there a memory there? A flashback to a thousand different lectures, Anders' voice equal parts smug and disgusted? No. No, for Fenris will not allow it).]
In any case: I bring it up only because I have a second gift for you. Do not grow used to this; I am not going to always give you presents.
[But he does not mind spending the coin so Astarion can have a few things to start off his new life. And this isn't exactly how he meant to give this, but . . . oh, hell, he isn't very good at sentiment on the best of days, and there's no point in delaying further for the sake of ill-managed surprise. With a little grimace of annoyance at himself, he brings them to a halt and draws out of his pack—
A blade.
A dagger, well oiled and well made, sheathed in leather and with a gleaming handle. Raven Armory is inscribed in an impossibly spider-thin font along the hilt, for Fenris had gone to a reputable armorer. What would be the point in giving some rusted blade barely better than a kitchen knife?]
Here. Keep it on you, for my sake if nothing else. I have no doubt you are a fearsome thing with those teeth, but a knife will deter some idiots from trying anyway.