Perhaps, Fenris thinks to himself as the waves crash at the shore to soak his aching feet, perhaps their reunion will be a happy one. The kind of reconciliation that southerners write of in paperback novels. The kind that Danarius scoffed at and mocked, even as he read them aloud to his pet.
Perhaps, Fenris thinks, the reunion will be a repeat of the time Danarius had been forced to attend some event in Orlais without him. When Dominus had returned from his weeks of travel, he had ran to Fenris - skipped, even! - and bid his wolf roll onto his back so his master could rub his belly.
Even Fenris had internally balked at that one, the magisters and alti with his master averting their eyes at Danarius' shameful display, but o, the joy that had radiated from Dominus then! Those grey eyes had grown so bright, sun shining through a rainy morning, that sharp smile just a bit too wide for polite company…
To have his master's love was to be love. To see his master's pleasure was to know the Maker.
Fenris stares out at the waves and wonders if that is still true. Is there a time when fact can change? Can reality ever turn to fiction? The Fog Warriors seem to believe so. The way they speak of his master sets his teeth on edge and his heart pounding with something rebellious and important.
They tell him that Danarius will not take him. He tells them he will; Dominus is coming for him. Dominus loves him.
They tell him they won't allow it.
He doesn't know how to convince them that his master's love is bigger than freedom. That the Maker despises freedom. Magic is made to serve man, He says, and elves to serve magic.
They don't seem to understand it.
(Or maybe they understand better that he does.)
The people here don't pet his hair or call him saccharine names or order him to do- well, anything. The most he is ever ordered to do is eat and even that is with a please and a pair of sad eyes looking imploringly into his own.
Not to say they don't touch him or show him great affection - they do! And to Fenris, it is the strangest thing. Sometimes someone will walk beside him, toss their arm around his shoulder and grin, telling him some funny thing from their day. The way gladiators who train together do. The way Dominus puts his hand on the shoulder of an ally - but different, somehow, because Danarius never does this with honesty. When the other magister would leave, Danarius would turn to Fenris and growl his frustration.
Not the Fog Warriors. They are true in their affections, never giving what they didn't want to be taken. Twice now he had been approached by someone new who was curious about him after being commended by another for his sense of humor.
That, at least, makes sense to him. Danarius had always liked when he was playful.
Fenris unbends his knees, letting the water soak his pants to his calves. It's cold. It sticks to his skin. It frightens him a little, thinking about Danarius sailing across that horizon. He doesn't understand. The thought of Danarius returning is not like the way he felt after the Orlais trip and he doesn't understand.
Danarius loves him.
Fenris stares at the sea for a long time, watching the colors change as the evening plays across the sand and water. He only stands when someone comes to find him.