(no subject)
Who; youallneedme and doesnotbrood; Closed.
What; Talking. Possibly arguing.
Where; Errr wherever Garrett manages to intercept Fenris before he attempts to murder his mage?
When; April 21, right after this.
Rating; 14A to be safe.
Status; Ongoing
There were two things on Garrett's mind the moment the moment he charged from the door. The first, was that Carver's mouth was far too big and Garrett would perhaps need to invest in a needle and thread and some sewing lessons and sew the blasted thing shut. The second, was that he had to find Fenris, before he tore Anders asunder.
Cold, hard dread churned in the pit of his stomach, settled heavily, and festered there. There were two things, however, that Hawke was sure of. He no more wanted to harm Fenris, than he did Anders. He wondered if he could even manage to achieve such a thing. It certainly seemed a daunting task, knowing Fenris as he did.
Knowing Fenris.
That was perhaps, the hardest part. His Fenris had agreed to stand by his side, through everything. Even despite the fact that in the end, Hawke had chosen to side with the mages. They had been friends, and allies, through everything. But Hawke could not hold this Fenris in the same regard, and that chilled him to the marrow. He knew what Fenris was capable of. Knew what he might do, were he able to get his hands on Anders. Would stand against this, no matter how unpopular he knew it would make him in the eyes of the elf he called friend.
Swearing beneath his breath, Garrett's pace increased. He didn't know where the library was, beyond a general direction, and the cold, solid fear that he would arrive too late, just as when he had failed his mother made him sick.
"Fenris!" he'd caught sight of the elf, dashed to catch him. Didn't touch him, nor reach for him when he'd found him, but got ahead of him, turned his body to block Fenris off from getting around him. For the moment, it was all he could do, "Wait, please. Don't do this," he bit the inside of his cheek, his words, weak to even his own ears were all that he had. He did not draw his blades, would not, if he could help it. Knew that offering threat to the near-rabid elf would not help to diffuse the situation.
What; Talking. Possibly arguing.
Where; Errr wherever Garrett manages to intercept Fenris before he attempts to murder his mage?
When; April 21, right after this.
Rating; 14A to be safe.
Status; Ongoing
There were two things on Garrett's mind the moment the moment he charged from the door. The first, was that Carver's mouth was far too big and Garrett would perhaps need to invest in a needle and thread and some sewing lessons and sew the blasted thing shut. The second, was that he had to find Fenris, before he tore Anders asunder.
Cold, hard dread churned in the pit of his stomach, settled heavily, and festered there. There were two things, however, that Hawke was sure of. He no more wanted to harm Fenris, than he did Anders. He wondered if he could even manage to achieve such a thing. It certainly seemed a daunting task, knowing Fenris as he did.
Knowing Fenris.
That was perhaps, the hardest part. His Fenris had agreed to stand by his side, through everything. Even despite the fact that in the end, Hawke had chosen to side with the mages. They had been friends, and allies, through everything. But Hawke could not hold this Fenris in the same regard, and that chilled him to the marrow. He knew what Fenris was capable of. Knew what he might do, were he able to get his hands on Anders. Would stand against this, no matter how unpopular he knew it would make him in the eyes of the elf he called friend.
Swearing beneath his breath, Garrett's pace increased. He didn't know where the library was, beyond a general direction, and the cold, solid fear that he would arrive too late, just as when he had failed his mother made him sick.
"Fenris!" he'd caught sight of the elf, dashed to catch him. Didn't touch him, nor reach for him when he'd found him, but got ahead of him, turned his body to block Fenris off from getting around him. For the moment, it was all he could do, "Wait, please. Don't do this," he bit the inside of his cheek, his words, weak to even his own ears were all that he had. He did not draw his blades, would not, if he could help it. Knew that offering threat to the near-rabid elf would not help to diffuse the situation.