It’s a mistake. It has to be. A trick, some clever scheme of his Mage Underground to get closer to the Gallows. The brand cannot be real.“Anders…” He means for it to be a question, but the name loses breath as he speaks it, fear tight in his chest as it coils thorns into his throat that drag the words into a weak, thin gasp. Brown eyes turn to him so slowly, lifeless and empty- he does not recognise Fenris.
“Can I be of assistance?” Fenris’ knees give out and he’d think someone had punched him in the gut with the way his breath is ripped from him. His knees crunch into the stone and he sees Anders’ boots- that were haphazardly thrown by the foot of their bed that morning- step into view. That hollow question is asked again and Fenris cannot help the way his hand flies out to grasp at Anders’ belt.
Fenris isn’t breathing properly. His chest heaves but what skitters into his lungs feels sharp and chokes him. “No….” Anders speaks and it is the same empty, flat tones that ring in his ears and make the thorns twist tighter inside him. The pain is too sharp, the world too bright as it clamours at him and when he presses his head to Anders’ stomach, the hand that rests on his back is not the touch he longs for.
It won’t ever be again.
fic by akaiba