dalishstorm (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dalishstorm) wrote2011-03-28 04:16 am
dalishstorm) wrote2011-03-28 04:16 am
Comfort
I had to fill this one:
M!Hawke/Fenris - Blood magic mind control, H/C
I recall reading that one DA:O prompt of Zev being controlled by a blood mage and having to hurt the warden.
How about one with it happening to Fenris and he badly injures M!Hawke?
I don't mind if smut follows or if it doesn't happen at all. No class preference but I think a mage!Hawke would make it pretty ironic.
It wasn't like the stark, bloody clarity and agony of Danarius' magic, it was all song and haze and bliss. Danarius' blood magic had been all force and left him feeling savaged. This was seduction, red fingers slipping into his mind sweet as sex, all subtle curves and touches and gentle whispers that made him want it, the red haze settling in his vision and wine-sweet whisper in his mind, Kill the mage, dearest; no one will be your master but me.
He'd thought about this extensively, what he'd do if Hawke ever turned, felt it was his duty as a friend and... and lover to be able to give the man a swift end if he ever succumbed to a demon's call. All of Hawke's magic was offensive, all lightning and ice and force and hard, violent things, except that part that Anders was helping him twist towards the healing arts, which Aodhan had no knack for. He had no defense except to attack, and Fenris knew Aodhan wouldn't strike out at him.
And he didn't. Hawke offered no resistance but a frightened and sorrowful look from those pale blue eyes, one that cut through the red haze and struck a poorly-buried wedge of guilt. Flesh cleaved under his blade, collarbone cracking sharply under the weight of the sword, and for a moment the haze wavered, as if he might be free of it, but those red fingers in his mind squeezed deliciously.... A second blow mislaid because Hawke twisted as he fell, but the flat of Fenris' blade still audibly cracked ribs. If he screamed, Fenris didn't hear it, and ended up kneeling over Hawke's prone form, and for a moment before he dug his partially-ethereal hand into Hawke's abdomen for the painful, bloody end his new mistress required, he wasn't here, he was panicking as a mage grabbed his arm, the lyrium singing to life, thrumming in his veins, and he had the mage pressed against the wall and ready to tear into them before-- But it didn't almost happen this time. It did.
The fingers slipped from his mind with a lusty sigh, and the blood mage choked out the last of her life around a crossbow bolt in the throat. Fenris carefully pulled his hand out, no major damage done there, as he hadn't had the time, and Hawke was thankfully, distressingly, unconscious. Blood spilled freely from the wound on Aodhan's shoulder, and gleaming bone visible at the very center, and for a moment Fenris wasn't watching Aodhan bleed out, but watching Danarius bleed out a sacrifice, the woman's eyes roving madly, looking for aid, her mouth open in a silent scream--
And then Aveline was pushing him aside, trying to get Hawke to choke down a health potion, comforting him when he startled awake, gagging on the potion, and grasping for the soft kerchief that kept her armor from rubbing at her neck with an iron grip. Aodhan passed out quickly again, blood speckling his lips now.
Fenris simply stood there, frozen, as Aveline gathered Hawke into her arms and started to carry him off, back towards the city. It took Varric, coming to his side and reaching a hand up to urge him along, to get Fenris moving.
It was as sure a shackle as Danarius' magic, as his conditioning, as his missing life. Up until this moment, surfacing from the blood magic to his hand phased through Aodhan's flesh, it had been a comfort to think he could kill the mage if necessary, that it would be a final act of devotion should he become possessed. Now it was a point of fear, how easily he could unmake the man....
“Come on, elf. He's tougher than this.” Fenris looked down at Varric's cocky smile, which held only the faintest hint of doubt. No, he isn't. But Fenris felt it wasn't his place to explain how much of the Champion's fragility he'd seen over the years.
It was the spark of fear in Aodhan's eyes that upset him the most. It was not sudden, not a surprise--not exactly. It had been the look of a man who had expected this doom or had at least considered it extensively but was surprised to find it in this moment. Does he really fear me so much?
He would be a fool not to, and much as he acts a fool...
Varric's gentle guidance herded him to Anders' clinic, where Fenris finally looked up, surprised, watched Varric follow Aveline in, leaving the door open, saw Anders shooing the less injured patients out. In stepping aside for them Fenris got a better view of the table where Aveline laid Hawke out. He was pale, and at this distance Fenris could tell if he was breathing or not. And when Anders started his healing, when Hawke bucked off the table with a wordless cry, Fenris flinched, found he couldn't watch. It was, after all, the work of his own hands that brought Hawke this agony, and the work of the abomination's hands undoing it. Fenris ended up sitting outside as dusk fell, sword propped against the wall, knees drawn up and head bowed.
And when Aodhan screamed for him, he fled, grabbing his sword only in reflex.
These were shackles, sure as anything else. He found himself wandering, heedless of direction, until he arrived at the docks, staring out at the wide expanse of dark water and the pale moon weak and wavering against it, staring up at the tormented statues that lined the cliffs. The Gallows were nearby, a great spike of stone jutting out of the bay, the sight of it rending a serene, darkening sky almost offensive somehow.
They were both fugitives, but Fenris was free of his pursuers now. For Hawke the noose drew ever tighter, every action he took carefully noted by those men and women at the Gallows. Fenris had once entertained ideas of turning the apostate in, and now....
His hands clenched so hard the tips of his gauntleted fingers dug into the callused flesh of the heel of his palm, raising little pinpricks of blood. These were not shackles. What held them together was interlinked desire; Fenris had wanted his freedom, and now he was free of all but the marks left by captivity, which Hawke was so very determined to erase, to teach him how to live as a free man instead of a slave. That Aodhan had always repaid his anger with temperance, and for three years since they'd first made love had waited, quietly, with open arms, willing to be Fenris' friend and brother if they could not be more, happy to take whatever Fenris was able to offer in return. These were, in fact, the very opposite of shackles. This man had freed him from everything, even the compulsion to remember, by making his current life so welcoming Fenris sometimes forgot anything had come before. All he had offered was all Fenris wanted, now that he had his freedom: belonging.
By the time he'd wandered back to Anders' clinic there were no more screams, only quiet murmurs near the now shut doors, so Fenris waited. Varric stepped out soon enough, pale and shaken, but on seeing Fenris he composed himself quickly enough. “Blondie is keeping him tonight, to watch him. If he's well enough tomorrow evening he's getting sent home.”
With a little nod and a nervous swallow, Fenris decided to accept this as the wisest course of action. He didn't like Anders, but the mage had his uses, and this was one of them.
He got only fitful sleep that night, leaving him restless and irritable, haunting the mansion and watching out the windows for Hawke's return to the lonely home he inhabited. After nightfall, once all the nobles and merchants had retired but before the streetwalkers and thugs were out, a small group of City Guards swept into the little court that separated their houses, Aveline at their center with a precious bundle in her arms and Anders trailing behind. Fenris went to the upper floors of the mansion and slipped out a busted-out window, making his way around the court at this level to end up on the balcony Aodhan kept overflowing with greenery. For a while he sat there, knowing no one would notice him, taking in the sweet smell of the leaves and soil and the soothing rush of fond, recent memories, letting it calm him. When they left the mansion, door swinging heavily shut and mutters passing between them, he entered.
Hawke looked distressingly small against that enormous bed, his skin terribly pale under the scarlet sheets and his own darker red hair, the tattoo that curled from beneath one eye and up across his forehead dark as a livid bruise. A bit of one bandaged shoulder peeked out, and Fenris wondered how long he'd be recovering. Magic could only do so much to heal a broken bone, and nothing at all to restore lost blood. A shudder passed through the man, and Fenris drew the covers up to properly cover Aodhan's shoulders.
Blue eyes opened to barest slits, but they were beautiful as his first sunrise as a free man, glittering in the firelight. “Fenris?” His voice was weak, breaking, but the smile that accompanied it so very him. When Fenris just nodded, Aodhan asked, “...you alright?”
A startled laugh escaped him before Fenris realized it. “I nearly killed you and your first thought is to see if I'm alright?”
Just a moment of hesitance in which the smile fell, and Fenris wanted it back desperately. “Blood magic....”
“I'm fine,” Fenris reassured him. “The Blood Mage did no permanent damage to me.”
“Good.” Before Fenris could say anything further Aodhan managed, “Sit with me.” So Fenris did, stiffly, uncertain what he should be doing. There seemed to be no fear, at least, and Aodhan scooting over to lean against his thigh was more than welcome after the reflexive flinch Fenris couldn't yet control. When Aodhan managed to wriggle his way to laying across Fenris' lap, his head cushioned against the elf's toned abdomen, Fenris indulged a little chuckle, leaned back against the headboard. “You make a much better pillow.”
“You'd have me here all night, testing which parts of me are best to lay against.”
“Maybe.” Aodhan smiled up at him, weak and pale but somehow still full of life. Fenris just started taking his gauntlets off and setting them aside on a table next to the bed while Aodhan buried his face against the thin fabric covering Fenris' stomach. Then Fenris started running his fingers through that unruly dark red hair, smoothing it back from Aodhan's face, the repetitive motion soothing to both of them.
“You screamed for me while Anders was healing you,” was spoken idly, but as a question.
Aodhan stiffened a little, as though the question caught him off guard, and Fenris realized his left arm was bandaged to his chest, kept immobile in this fashion. “What Anders was doing hurt,” Aodhan whispered against him. “I thought I was being tortured. I called out for you.”
“I didn't come.” A moment of tense silence passed, and Fenris allowed it. Because I'm a coward went without saying.
“You knew better,” Aodhan offered, and he nuzzled against Fenris' stomach, stealthily undoing a couple of the catches on Fenris' shirt with his mouth in order to find skin to press his lips against, lips that were much colder than they should've been. “If you had other reasons, they're unimportant. You're here now.”
A quick swallow to choke down his own nervousness, his own fear, and Fenris managed, “I might hurt you again.”
Cold lips against his navel made Fenris shiver, a playful dip from a foolish and wicked tongue, and he couldn't help but smile despite all his misgivings. At first he'd thought these sort of senseless actions in tense moments were distractions, Aodhan's way of avoiding a topic or a reflection of his inability to take much seriously, but he knew now it was a silent, I don't care, I love you still. He kept stroking Aodhan's hair, dragging his fingers lightly across the man's scalp. “You wouldn't hurt me without a damn good reason.” Even Aodhan's breath felt cool against his skin. “Someone invading your space without permission is a good enough reason. Blood magic is a damned good reason. We're both alive now, and that's far more important than which of us is more dangerous to the other. You know who'll win that argument.” Another little nuzzle, and Aodhan insisted, “If you've such dire need for penitence, then warm me up.”
Giving in with a little sigh and a smile, Fenris shifted to be properly under the blankets and stole one of Aodhan's pillows to cushion his back before tucking the covers in around the man curled against him. This was where he belonged tonight, after all: between Aodhan Hawke and the chill night air.
M!Hawke/Fenris - Blood magic mind control, H/C
I recall reading that one DA:O prompt of Zev being controlled by a blood mage and having to hurt the warden.
How about one with it happening to Fenris and he badly injures M!Hawke?
I don't mind if smut follows or if it doesn't happen at all. No class preference but I think a mage!Hawke would make it pretty ironic.
It wasn't like the stark, bloody clarity and agony of Danarius' magic, it was all song and haze and bliss. Danarius' blood magic had been all force and left him feeling savaged. This was seduction, red fingers slipping into his mind sweet as sex, all subtle curves and touches and gentle whispers that made him want it, the red haze settling in his vision and wine-sweet whisper in his mind, Kill the mage, dearest; no one will be your master but me.
He'd thought about this extensively, what he'd do if Hawke ever turned, felt it was his duty as a friend and... and lover to be able to give the man a swift end if he ever succumbed to a demon's call. All of Hawke's magic was offensive, all lightning and ice and force and hard, violent things, except that part that Anders was helping him twist towards the healing arts, which Aodhan had no knack for. He had no defense except to attack, and Fenris knew Aodhan wouldn't strike out at him.
And he didn't. Hawke offered no resistance but a frightened and sorrowful look from those pale blue eyes, one that cut through the red haze and struck a poorly-buried wedge of guilt. Flesh cleaved under his blade, collarbone cracking sharply under the weight of the sword, and for a moment the haze wavered, as if he might be free of it, but those red fingers in his mind squeezed deliciously.... A second blow mislaid because Hawke twisted as he fell, but the flat of Fenris' blade still audibly cracked ribs. If he screamed, Fenris didn't hear it, and ended up kneeling over Hawke's prone form, and for a moment before he dug his partially-ethereal hand into Hawke's abdomen for the painful, bloody end his new mistress required, he wasn't here, he was panicking as a mage grabbed his arm, the lyrium singing to life, thrumming in his veins, and he had the mage pressed against the wall and ready to tear into them before-- But it didn't almost happen this time. It did.
The fingers slipped from his mind with a lusty sigh, and the blood mage choked out the last of her life around a crossbow bolt in the throat. Fenris carefully pulled his hand out, no major damage done there, as he hadn't had the time, and Hawke was thankfully, distressingly, unconscious. Blood spilled freely from the wound on Aodhan's shoulder, and gleaming bone visible at the very center, and for a moment Fenris wasn't watching Aodhan bleed out, but watching Danarius bleed out a sacrifice, the woman's eyes roving madly, looking for aid, her mouth open in a silent scream--
And then Aveline was pushing him aside, trying to get Hawke to choke down a health potion, comforting him when he startled awake, gagging on the potion, and grasping for the soft kerchief that kept her armor from rubbing at her neck with an iron grip. Aodhan passed out quickly again, blood speckling his lips now.
Fenris simply stood there, frozen, as Aveline gathered Hawke into her arms and started to carry him off, back towards the city. It took Varric, coming to his side and reaching a hand up to urge him along, to get Fenris moving.
It was as sure a shackle as Danarius' magic, as his conditioning, as his missing life. Up until this moment, surfacing from the blood magic to his hand phased through Aodhan's flesh, it had been a comfort to think he could kill the mage if necessary, that it would be a final act of devotion should he become possessed. Now it was a point of fear, how easily he could unmake the man....
“Come on, elf. He's tougher than this.” Fenris looked down at Varric's cocky smile, which held only the faintest hint of doubt. No, he isn't. But Fenris felt it wasn't his place to explain how much of the Champion's fragility he'd seen over the years.
It was the spark of fear in Aodhan's eyes that upset him the most. It was not sudden, not a surprise--not exactly. It had been the look of a man who had expected this doom or had at least considered it extensively but was surprised to find it in this moment. Does he really fear me so much?
He would be a fool not to, and much as he acts a fool...
Varric's gentle guidance herded him to Anders' clinic, where Fenris finally looked up, surprised, watched Varric follow Aveline in, leaving the door open, saw Anders shooing the less injured patients out. In stepping aside for them Fenris got a better view of the table where Aveline laid Hawke out. He was pale, and at this distance Fenris could tell if he was breathing or not. And when Anders started his healing, when Hawke bucked off the table with a wordless cry, Fenris flinched, found he couldn't watch. It was, after all, the work of his own hands that brought Hawke this agony, and the work of the abomination's hands undoing it. Fenris ended up sitting outside as dusk fell, sword propped against the wall, knees drawn up and head bowed.
And when Aodhan screamed for him, he fled, grabbing his sword only in reflex.
These were shackles, sure as anything else. He found himself wandering, heedless of direction, until he arrived at the docks, staring out at the wide expanse of dark water and the pale moon weak and wavering against it, staring up at the tormented statues that lined the cliffs. The Gallows were nearby, a great spike of stone jutting out of the bay, the sight of it rending a serene, darkening sky almost offensive somehow.
They were both fugitives, but Fenris was free of his pursuers now. For Hawke the noose drew ever tighter, every action he took carefully noted by those men and women at the Gallows. Fenris had once entertained ideas of turning the apostate in, and now....
His hands clenched so hard the tips of his gauntleted fingers dug into the callused flesh of the heel of his palm, raising little pinpricks of blood. These were not shackles. What held them together was interlinked desire; Fenris had wanted his freedom, and now he was free of all but the marks left by captivity, which Hawke was so very determined to erase, to teach him how to live as a free man instead of a slave. That Aodhan had always repaid his anger with temperance, and for three years since they'd first made love had waited, quietly, with open arms, willing to be Fenris' friend and brother if they could not be more, happy to take whatever Fenris was able to offer in return. These were, in fact, the very opposite of shackles. This man had freed him from everything, even the compulsion to remember, by making his current life so welcoming Fenris sometimes forgot anything had come before. All he had offered was all Fenris wanted, now that he had his freedom: belonging.
By the time he'd wandered back to Anders' clinic there were no more screams, only quiet murmurs near the now shut doors, so Fenris waited. Varric stepped out soon enough, pale and shaken, but on seeing Fenris he composed himself quickly enough. “Blondie is keeping him tonight, to watch him. If he's well enough tomorrow evening he's getting sent home.”
With a little nod and a nervous swallow, Fenris decided to accept this as the wisest course of action. He didn't like Anders, but the mage had his uses, and this was one of them.
He got only fitful sleep that night, leaving him restless and irritable, haunting the mansion and watching out the windows for Hawke's return to the lonely home he inhabited. After nightfall, once all the nobles and merchants had retired but before the streetwalkers and thugs were out, a small group of City Guards swept into the little court that separated their houses, Aveline at their center with a precious bundle in her arms and Anders trailing behind. Fenris went to the upper floors of the mansion and slipped out a busted-out window, making his way around the court at this level to end up on the balcony Aodhan kept overflowing with greenery. For a while he sat there, knowing no one would notice him, taking in the sweet smell of the leaves and soil and the soothing rush of fond, recent memories, letting it calm him. When they left the mansion, door swinging heavily shut and mutters passing between them, he entered.
Hawke looked distressingly small against that enormous bed, his skin terribly pale under the scarlet sheets and his own darker red hair, the tattoo that curled from beneath one eye and up across his forehead dark as a livid bruise. A bit of one bandaged shoulder peeked out, and Fenris wondered how long he'd be recovering. Magic could only do so much to heal a broken bone, and nothing at all to restore lost blood. A shudder passed through the man, and Fenris drew the covers up to properly cover Aodhan's shoulders.
Blue eyes opened to barest slits, but they were beautiful as his first sunrise as a free man, glittering in the firelight. “Fenris?” His voice was weak, breaking, but the smile that accompanied it so very him. When Fenris just nodded, Aodhan asked, “...you alright?”
A startled laugh escaped him before Fenris realized it. “I nearly killed you and your first thought is to see if I'm alright?”
Just a moment of hesitance in which the smile fell, and Fenris wanted it back desperately. “Blood magic....”
“I'm fine,” Fenris reassured him. “The Blood Mage did no permanent damage to me.”
“Good.” Before Fenris could say anything further Aodhan managed, “Sit with me.” So Fenris did, stiffly, uncertain what he should be doing. There seemed to be no fear, at least, and Aodhan scooting over to lean against his thigh was more than welcome after the reflexive flinch Fenris couldn't yet control. When Aodhan managed to wriggle his way to laying across Fenris' lap, his head cushioned against the elf's toned abdomen, Fenris indulged a little chuckle, leaned back against the headboard. “You make a much better pillow.”
“You'd have me here all night, testing which parts of me are best to lay against.”
“Maybe.” Aodhan smiled up at him, weak and pale but somehow still full of life. Fenris just started taking his gauntlets off and setting them aside on a table next to the bed while Aodhan buried his face against the thin fabric covering Fenris' stomach. Then Fenris started running his fingers through that unruly dark red hair, smoothing it back from Aodhan's face, the repetitive motion soothing to both of them.
“You screamed for me while Anders was healing you,” was spoken idly, but as a question.
Aodhan stiffened a little, as though the question caught him off guard, and Fenris realized his left arm was bandaged to his chest, kept immobile in this fashion. “What Anders was doing hurt,” Aodhan whispered against him. “I thought I was being tortured. I called out for you.”
“I didn't come.” A moment of tense silence passed, and Fenris allowed it. Because I'm a coward went without saying.
“You knew better,” Aodhan offered, and he nuzzled against Fenris' stomach, stealthily undoing a couple of the catches on Fenris' shirt with his mouth in order to find skin to press his lips against, lips that were much colder than they should've been. “If you had other reasons, they're unimportant. You're here now.”
A quick swallow to choke down his own nervousness, his own fear, and Fenris managed, “I might hurt you again.”
Cold lips against his navel made Fenris shiver, a playful dip from a foolish and wicked tongue, and he couldn't help but smile despite all his misgivings. At first he'd thought these sort of senseless actions in tense moments were distractions, Aodhan's way of avoiding a topic or a reflection of his inability to take much seriously, but he knew now it was a silent, I don't care, I love you still. He kept stroking Aodhan's hair, dragging his fingers lightly across the man's scalp. “You wouldn't hurt me without a damn good reason.” Even Aodhan's breath felt cool against his skin. “Someone invading your space without permission is a good enough reason. Blood magic is a damned good reason. We're both alive now, and that's far more important than which of us is more dangerous to the other. You know who'll win that argument.” Another little nuzzle, and Aodhan insisted, “If you've such dire need for penitence, then warm me up.”
Giving in with a little sigh and a smile, Fenris shifted to be properly under the blankets and stole one of Aodhan's pillows to cushion his back before tucking the covers in around the man curled against him. This was where he belonged tonight, after all: between Aodhan Hawke and the chill night air.