lyriumshackled

[lyriumshackled]

He is bitter, like the cheap ale sloshing clumsily in his glass. Perhaps, like the ale, if he loosens a little and pretends he’s better, he might start to believe it. Perhaps, by domino effect, others might as well. Unlikely, he muses, given the intense drunken stare he’s currently fixing against the floorboards. He is an unappealing, bitter man, and nothing will change that. Especially not when his breath reeks of alcohol.

He wrinkles his nose when he sees his tab, but pays it nonetheless. There isn’t much point causing fights over his poor choices. It’ll just get him barred from future drinking, Maker forbid he ever stop willingly.

He stumbles outside, into the dark, and walks directly into someone- Or something, perhaps- He’s quite drunk, and not paying attention, but he thinks the wincing sound is from a person other than himself. He knows his own voice. Frowning, he tries to step back, though the action combines with his already poor balance and top-heavy armor, and he instead falls flat on his rear.

This time, it’s him who groans.

Rather than risk falling again in trying to stand, he sits up. “Odd place to be standing. You ought to move.”

[lyriumshackled]

garretthawkcs‌:

There’s a commotion at the gate and while this is exactly the kind of thing that Hawke would normally stay away from – unfortunately, he’s been caught in the middle of it, on his way somewhere, that place now long forgotten, now that he’s seen a flash of shockingly white hair, and those scars. Scars as familiar to him as if they were on his own body. 

“Give him space,” he orders, voice more authoritative than it’s been in – fuck, since Kirkwall, it’s nice to see he hasn’t lost his touch as people shuffle away, giving the pair space. “You’re alright now,” he whispers. “Can you walk, or shall I carry you in a very manly fashion?”

He wraps his arm around the elf’s waist, supporting his slight weight against him, and it takes everything inside of him not to cry.

Fenris has come home to him. 

“I can walk,” Fenris stubbornly hisses, doing his best to prove his point by shoving at Hawke’s waist. However, his arms are weak; even when he gathers all the remaining strength he can muster, he’s barely able to feel the press of flesh beneath armor and clothing. In the end, his legs buckle, forcing him to lean against his long lost friend. 

Ordinarily, such a comment might have evoked laughter- He’s greatly missed Hawke’s humor, that much is certain. Yet, he’s too tired, so instead, he huffs, and leans closer. “Is there even a manly way of being carried?” He doubts it. 

Though, some part of him wants to find out. 

Ahh.

He swallows the thought as soon as it comes, choosing instead to focus on the sound of his own labored breathing. Venhedis... He must sound awful. What an entrance he’s made- he only hopes the inquisition welcomes him, as they clearly have with Hawke.

[lyriumshackled]

@lvllcn

The courtyard is nice this time of year. Despite the chill of the mountains, it still doesn’t feel cold enough to set him on edge, and for once, he’s just lounging. There’s no extra motives in his actions, no attempts at ditching his wandering thoughts- he’s honestly just taking time to enjoy the night time air, and stare up at the stars.

He probably should feel on edge, but all he feels is tiredness. It’s unusual for Fenris to be kept up by insomnia not caused by his brain’s turmoil. He doesn’t, though. He thinks of the constellations, of the moon, and of the serenity.

Footsteps draw him back to reality. They’re loud and crunching against the frozen dirt and gravel, and though he knows anyone in Skyhold is probably an ally, instinct sets him on edge. He poses no real threat right now, the exhaustion from his insomnia finally catching up on his body. He must look like a wreck, based on what he feels- nonetheless, he speaks, elegant and sharp. “Reveal yourself. Speak your name.”

If he weren’t so tired, and perhaps a little less lost in the beauty of nature, perhaps he’d have realized that the stranger hadn’t tried to hide at all, and was actually right in front of him.

[lyriumshackled]

He told himself, at one point, that he’d cut down his drinking. There had been a time where his constant melancholy and binge alcohol consumption proved concerning, not only as a safety hazard, but from a personal perspective. His friends, hesitant as he is to admit the accuracy in calling them that, had asked him to stop.

And he had, for a time.

Traveling alone again made it all too easy to return to habit, however awful they might be. The drinking too, returned in time- though it didn’t really pick up until his arrival at Skyhold, which made alcohol easily and consistently available.

Sometimes, he feels remorseful. They’d never asked him to give up social drinking, celebratory drinking, or any other kind of positive liquor consumption- they’d only asked him to stop drowning his manic emotions in bottles of wine.

Here he is, doing exactly that, over the very promise he’d failed to keep. How ironic.

When she shows up, he nearly thinks her a figment of his drunken imagination. He’s not seen her in many months- years, even... He thinks of her, sure, but he’s never sought out initiating contact since they parted ways. What could she possibly want with him? He must be imaging her, clearly.

Except he’s not; she stops to speak to one of the bartenders and all hope of blaming the alcohol is thrown out the window.

“Merrin-“ No, that’s not right. “-Merrill...” He hasn’t forgotten her name, it’s merely a slip of the tongue. He isn’t that far gone... “Hard to forget people I apparently imagine while drunk.” Maybe, just maybe, if he pretends hard enough, she’ll turn into an actual mirage, and he won’t have to deal with explaining his current state to her. It’s unlikely, but an appealing thought nonetheless.

“You’re real though, yes. I don’t think I’ve had nearly enough alcohol to hallucinate you.”

@lyriumshackled

Merrill was once again lost. A false sense of ease had settled onto the woman earlier after she’d began to recognize her way around the large castle, the bustling court yards and towers were difficult to navigate for someone who hadn’t had too much reason to leave the Alienage in the past couple of years. Skyhold was at least twice as large, and once the sun set any sense of familiarity that Merrill developed had been snuffed out. All the refugees with children had already headed to their lodgings, leaving the lights coming from the tavern one of the few illuminating markers guiding Merrill back towards somewhere familiar. 

Herald’s Rest was sparsely occupied by patrons who were both in search of rest and distraction and large green eyes searched the tavern for any familiar face as she ordered a bottle of wine to warm her belly and ease her nerves. The bard playing a hymn was lovely but Merrill found herself drawn to the second floor, face brightening with hope as she spotted the back of a head with snowy white hair and a hint of unusual markings. 

“Fenris! I thought I heard you were here but I almost didn’t believe it. I do hope you remember me, don’t you?” 

[lyriumshackled]

@pippabragadin

Fenris has never been the type to seek out social drinking. Ordinarily, he drinks for the sake of occupying time and blocking out the cocophany of pessimism always bouncing around his head. He’s not one who gets up on the table for merry making, nor is he one to seek out drunken flings. Most commonly, he’ll silently drink until he can barely keep his eyes open, he’ll pay, and he’ll somehow wake in his room the next morning, miraculouslay free of a hangover.

He supposes, to some degree, it makes sense that nobody seeks him out, either. He hardly gives off friendliness when he grows desperate enough for copious alcohol- if his blood covered armor isn’t enough to deter people, usually his scowl will do the rest.

But... he’s not alone, for once. When the young lady sits down across from him, he instinctually throws his gaze around the room, checking for a crowd. It’s unusual for someone to sit within his personal space, and has only ever happened when there was absolutely no room left anywhere else-

The tavern is practically empty.

Blinking away his confusion, he murmurs, “if you’re hoping to make new friends, I’m hardly the optimal choice.”

[lyriumshackled]

@garretthawkcs

It’s still raining when he arrives at the gates covered head to toe in dirt, grime, and whatever else clings to his exhausted form. His hair is tied back out of his face, and he’s thankful that, at least, will not impede his vision further, though he knows he’s likely beyond recognition. He needs a bath, but he also needs to eat. And sleep. And just generally live again.

He’s spent much too long traipsing through the wilderness and fixating on whether or not to actually show his face at Skyhold. The fact that he’s here is not a result of a final decision, but rather a testament to his weakness as a mortal- Inevitably he grew hungry and tired enough that even the thought of imprisonment seemed fine. If they locked him up he’d just escape.

Fenris shuffles to the gate, but that’s all he’s able to do before his legs give out under him.

Theres yelling, clacking, jostling- He can vaguely hear the sounds of chains and cranks in motion as the gates open- However, he’s struggling to process much. He feels someone touch his shoulder and he tries to flinch away, but upon focusing his gaze, he recognizes one of the people around him.

Hawke.

Through bleary and tired eyes, Fenris stares. Clearly he must be hallucinating again. He’d heard runors of former allies joining up with the inquisition, but this is... For him to find Hawke so soon and so easily- His mind is toying with him, projecting his desires.

Vision spinning, he closes his eyes, hissing out, “you’re not real. My exhaustion has a sick sense of humor- you can’t...” He swallows. “You can’t be real.”

[lyriumshackled]

Hello! I’m Potato, and l’ll be playing this broody elf...

* —— Fenris was born in Tevinter and spent a large portion of his life enslaved to a Magister. He was branded with Lyrium tattoos and used as a weapon.

* —— After fleeing, he gained help in slaying his former master and in turn, supported his newfound allies in sorting out issues in Kirkwall.

* —— He inevitably goes off on his own, though later comes to regret the decision as he finds himself longing for his former allies- Still, he is reluctant to seek any of them out, feeling that it’s best for each of them to pursue their own path in life.

* —— He wanders for some time, acting as a vigilante and protecting refuges by slaying slavers and others who would do them harm. He also frees as many slaves as he is able to.

* —— Eventually, he catches wind of information regarding several of his former allies; they have joined up with the inquisition. Without thinking on it, he begins traveling towards Skyhold.

* —— He ends up lingering in the final stretch before the fortress for several days, hesitating on whether or not he’ll be welcome- In the end it’s running out of provisions that motivates him into making the final trek.

* —— While he still does not trust magic, he is starting to question his hatred towards mages. After growing fairly close to more than one, he’s started to justify that not all mages are inherently evil... This change in belief is incredibly conflicting for him, and despite it, he has become arguably more hostile towards mages in general in an effort to force his beliefs back in place. He’s always had his hate- It was sometimes the only thing that fueled him. Losing it would leave him even more lost than he already is.

* —— While he is more aggressive in attitude, actually harming an innocent mage would cause more psychological damage- therefore he freezes up before he is able to act. Whether or not this is a flaw or an improvement remains up in the air.

* —— While he is slowly recovering from his past, he often feels like he’s making backwards progress- really he’s just stopped ignoring things.

* —— He suffers from insomnia and can often be found roaming the battlements or beating training dummies at odd hours of the night.