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Azzan nearly fell on his bed in exhaustion.
He’d known going to help Arianni and Feynriel would be, at the very least, emotionally taxing. He’d thought he’d properly prepared himself. He’d thought he’d properly prepared his team. Anders, the more knowledgeable mage of the two of them. Aveline, who knew the most of the law and the system, in case Feynriel needed to be protected on that end. Fenris, with enough power to assist no matter where they may have to go, despite the man’s dislike of mages.
But when he’d shown up and found out what was really happening… he hadn’t had time to switch out his team. He hadn’t had time to worry about how the non-mages in the group might react to the Fade. He hadn’t even properly spared a thought for how the fade might affect Anders. In his mind, all he’d been able to see was young Feynriel, not even quite old enough to be called an adult, just a year or so younger than his own brother, battling his demons alone. He’d rushed to the man’s side.
Rushed. Perhaps he shouldn’t have.
Despite the change in Anders, despite Justice taking control in his home environment, the two people who had the least trouble in the Fade were the mages. The ones who had dealt with demons their entire lives. He should have known the two warriors, stalwart though they were, would have a much harder time dealing with the world beyond their own.
Azzan flopped onto his side and rubbed his face with his hands. To be honest, the thought had never even crossed his mind that they would have a hard time. That Aveline, so forthright in her convictions, would be swayed by the idea of Hawke as the instigator of her troubles. That Fenris, so hateful of those who fell to the first thought of power, would do the same as his enemies to gain that same strength.
He clenched his eyes shut so tight they hurt. Colors popped beyond his eyelids. Aveline had followed up her own failure by saying magesshould be locked up. That even he might need to be. She was afraid of the temptation demons made. How to explain to her that the temptation to accept an offer wasn’t made solely by one’s weakness, but by the foolish belief that the demon could be controlled? That Aveline had acted as a child might, and taken up a sword without realizing its heft?
How to explain to her that he himself had conversed with demons before, had turned them aside when they’d offered haven for his family, love without fear of handing his family to the templars, strength against the darkspawn. How to tell her that the weakness she’d fallen prey to was not something he himself should be punished for?
Of all people, he had perhaps underestimated Fenris most. After speaking with Aveline, after hearing what she, the first person to know him as a mage and still call him friend, had said of him, he had not held out hope for Fenris. He had nearly burst into tears when Fenris had said only, “I failed you.” There had been no words of recrimination against Azzan. Against even mages. None. Even when Azzan had given him an out, trying to disavow fault on the man, Fenris waved his words away. He noted Azzan hadn’t fallen to the demon’s words. He said nothing of locking mages up. Of locking Azzan up.
Azzan took a deep breath and sat up on the bed. He’d had to leave. He’d wanted to stay, to speak further with Fenris on the Fade, on how Fenris felt and how Hawke might help him. But he’d had to go. Just as he’d had to leave Aveline, but for very different reasons. While he’d had to escape his old friend to lick the newly-made wounds, Fenris he ran from to keep from losing control of himself in front of the man.
Now, he found himself torn between wanting to return, to offer help in some way, to talk Fenris through what he’d done or even to give the man practical advice, just in case the worst came to pass and they had to deal with the Fade once more, and just sitting and absorbing the beauty of what Fenris had offered. Someone who had far more reason to hate and fear mages than Aveline accepted him. Fenris laid no blame at Azzan’s feet, even though Azzan had been the one to bring Fenris to the demon.
His mother knocked on his door. “Azzan? Are you all right?”
He turned. He’d closed the door with his foot when he’d entered, his thoughts only for sleep without waking in the night to over a hundred pounds of dog lying on his stomach. He thought of the long conversation his mother was bound to start the moment he allowed her into his room. Then he thought of the long conversation that would occur after the well-meaning lecture if he didn’t and sighed. “Come on in.”
His mother, when she entered, came slowly, closing the door behind her to give them privacy. Not that he thought Bodahn would listen in. Probably. “What’s wrong, love?”
Azzan sat on the edge of the bed and scooted over, silently inviting his mother to sit next to him. She did so, tucking her skirt proprietorially beneath her. She leaned forward, catching his downward gaze. He quirked a small grin at her. She just rested a hand on his back. “I always knew people would fear me for my magic.”
She stiffened. “The templars?” she asked, her voice barely a breath.
He quickly shook his head, grabbing her hand as she pulled back and made to stand. “No. No, Mom. It’s not the templars. It’s… Aveline.”
She stiffened further, then melted to her knees before him. Her tiny hands encircled his knees. “What happened?”
He told her. He told her of Feynriel, of going to meet Arianni after reading her letter. He told her of Keeper Marethari’s plan to send them to the Fade. His mother only tensed slightly at the information; she knew the risks mages faced and only feared the Fade as much as a mother and wife would when faced with an unknown danger to her family. Then he told her of his friends, of Anders’ change when they entered, and then she began to fear. By the time he got to Aveline’s and Fenris’ betrayals, her fingers gripped the folds of his cloak in white-knuckled holds. When he told her what Aveline said to him, his voice fell to a whisper, as if to repeat it aloud was to make the words true.
Without a word, his mother reached up and hugged him. And she apologized. He shook his head, even as he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against him. “It’s nothing that could be changed.” Aveline had been taught so thoroughly by the clerics of the Chantries that she’d even married a templar. A templar who, when he’d first seen Azzan and Bethany, had tried to stand in opposition to them.
“I’m sorry your friend hurt you. I’m sorry my son feels such pain.” She leaned back when his grip loosened, only to cup her hands on his cheeks. “I’m sorry your friend betrayed you beyond the touch of the Fade.”
He flinched. His mother had always seen to the heart of the matter. In the Fade, with the demons, he could say that their hearts had been manipulated, swayed to the enemy’s side. Without the demons and the Fade? All that remained was his friend. Still standing against him.
“You know, you don’t have to solve this today. Or tomorrow.” She tucked a loose lock of hair behind his ear. “Or ever. You don’t have to ever forgive this.”
He opened his mouth to protest. Then stopped. Did he? Did he always have to forgive? “Perhaps it would be easier to forgive if Fenris had done the same,” he said finally.
For a moment, her hand stilled. He knew a classist belief system still remained in his mother. He knew she tried to be understanding of his having friends who were elven and dwarven. He also knew she still struggled with it. “And how did your elf friend take it?”
“Mom.” Gently, he grabbed her hand and lowered it back down to his lap. “He took the blame onto himself. He recognized that I didn’t fall prey to the demons the way he did.” He tried to make her understand his hidden message – that Fenris was far more than just the shape of his ears. “He’s had a rough past, thanks to mages. But he didn’t blame me, or them.”
She squeezed the hand he had wrapped around hers. “All right.” And then, as always, his mother caught him by surprise. “I was so worried about that, watching you. Hearing his talk of mabari and magisters, seeing your face shut down when he said we should hope our mabari didn’t turn out too much like its ancestors.” He sat frozen as she stood, nearly fell when she tugged to try to get him on his feet. When he finally stood with her, his legs shook. “I feared what it might mean for you. You have too open a heart sometimes.”
Azzan’s lips trembled. He’d hardly let himself think it. Even now, he shied away from the images, the thoughts. The dreams. “Mom.”
She searched his gaze. “You know the story of myself and your father,” she said. She took a single step back. For a moment, Azzan held onto her hands, even though it meant straining the length of their arms to their fullest. Then she let go, and he had no choice but to do the same. “You know the struggles we faced. How my parents responded. I swore that I would never get in the way of my children’s hearts, no matter how society might react to them. Even though your father and I lived our lives in hiding, on the run, I wouldn’t trade my time with him for anything.” She hesitated. “Do you feel the same about this elf?”
“I do,” he said, these words, at least, coming easily.
She smiled. “Then I shall hope for you, my love, that he will respond in kind.” When he hesitated himself, she walked forward and leaned on her toes. Obligingly, he bent down for her kiss. She rubbed it into the skin of his forehead, as usual. “You’ve already softened his heart to mages, Azzan. Don’t give me that defeated look yet.”
Azzan grinned. His heart rolled in his chest. Had he? Had he had some sort of influence over Fenris, for the man to no longer display such animosity toward him? But he had to have done something. Just a few days ago, Azzan had said he would help Fenris with his problems – or give him more, and Fenris had begun flirting with him. He’d even said he would consider the idea of them… as a them. The thought left him nearly breathless. His mother, seeing this, shook her head and pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “I’ll make sure your favorites are cooked tonight.”
For a moment, he wondered why, before he remembered his talk with Aveline. Already the pain from that meeting had begun to fade. As always, his mother knew just what to say. “Thank you,” he said. She just waved his words away and left, this time leaving his door ajar. No longer letting him shut himself from the world.
Azzan rubbed his face one last time, briskly. His lungs felt full to bursting. He would go speak with Fenris again. Ask the man if he was all right. Offer to teach him basic defenses against demons. Sit and listen, if he had concerns. And he would worry about Aveline some other time. Give them both space to think. Perhaps, over time, Aveline would no longer believe he and all mages were dangerous simply because they faced an enemy Aveline was unaccustomed to facing herself. And if not? If not, then he would simply continue being himself. It was all he could do.
He left his room, more hopeful now than he’d been just a half hour before. He would have to find some way to repay his mother for once more looking out for her son. He would have to take a stroll through the markets before evening. Down below, he heard the sounds of his mother’s off-key humming and the bang of pots and pans. His stomach rumbled.
Perhaps he could do those things tomorrow.
He hurried down the stairs. “Mom! Did I get to telling you about the strange riddles in the Fade? There was even a flying book!”
His mother laughed. “That’s absurd.”
“I swear! And when I caught it, even as it disappeared, I could swear I was reading it…”