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[He finally glances back at Lorenz, studying the curve of his cheek and the flutter of his eyelashes as he focuses on stitching Fenris up.

He'd been afraid tonight, the instant he'd learned that woman was a mage. Terror, old and long since ingrained with him, had struck through him like lightning, and it was only because he'd had somewhat of a grip on himself that he hadn't just attacked her outright. The wound he'd received was pushed to the back of his mind, and only now does he realize how it must have felt for Lorenz, to have gotten a text like that.]

I promise.

[He means it, his voice low. His fingers absently brush against a strand of Lorenz's hair, sweeping it back away from his face.]

Did they train you for this, in your school, or was this a talent you picked up on your own?

[That's right, get blood in his hair... No, he appreciates the gesture as well as the promise, leaning briefly into Fenris' touch with quiet satisfaction before concentrating on the stitches once more. They are not the best stitches, mostly orderly because of who Lorenz is as a person rather than too much practice, so apologies if he tugs too hard or anything at some point. He probably will.

That said,] We were taught... briefly. Most of our practical education revolved around combat training. I have always liked to be prepared in the event of an injury that requires urgent handling, myself.

[Some people just carried medicinal ointments around at school, it's normal... he has good foresight. Sometimes healers with magic just aren't around!]

These stitches are hardly elegant, but they'll hold. Hold still just a moment longer.

They're more elegant than what I would accomplish, I assure you.

[Because while he could stitch himself up, that hardly makes him an expert. Far from it.]

And how often did such events occur? You have spoken infrequently of your time in your war.

[And that is a part of Lorenz too, one that he would know better.]

Far more than I happened to be witness to, I imagine. Even I had my fair share of close calls over the years, when the fighting spilled into Gloucester territory. And of course, when we returned to the front in earnest...

[Well, he's been stabbed enough himself, brow furrowing in empathy as he tugs the last couple stitches closed and looks up again. Hmm. Well, he's already made his point, so--]

If you'd like to hear war stories, you'll have to wash up first. And agree to lie down and rest. Those are my terms.

[And give him time to mop up bloody footprints, but who's counting.]

[He does, in fact, want to hear war stories, because it's a side of Lorenz he barely knows, but also, what a clause. He wrinkles his nose for a few moments, petulant, before nodding.]

I-- all right.

[He won't argue with the need for rest, but he also will at least help mop up those bloodstained footprints. And does, though truthfully, a lot of it is just carrying around the mop bucket and emptying it when it gets too, hm, bloody.

And then he goes to wash up, dipping into the shower before crawling gingerly into bed. He pulls Lorenz close the moment he climbs into bed with him, his shirt off and his bloody leather trousers switched to sweatpants. Hello, darling.]

[Not arguing is a point in his favor and his reward is that Lorenz doesn't lecture him about personal safety while they clean up blood. He scoops up the still upset Nugget to take him away for real food while Fenris gets into the shower, too, and pointedly does not bring the dog to bed. The pets will entertain each other, elsewhere...

So, then: hello, dear, and he ducks close to press a kiss to Fenris' hair as he settles in next to him. The other reward is he's here now instead of spending another twenty minutes making tea and bothering Fenris to drink it, you're welcome.]

How are you feeling? Tell me honestly.

It hurts. But it would hurt no matter what anyone did. And I barely notice it.

[It is the truth. Give his tattoos this: the way they constantly ache means that he barely notices other pain sometimes, up to and including stitches. He registers it, yes, but there are far worse things.

He buries himself in Lorenz a little, pressing his face against his neck, nosing lightly against his skin.]

Truly. My pain tolerance is . . . different than others, I think.

[Mm, yes, he remembers that particular sensation from the other week. Pain is still pain, Lorenz thinks, but if there's nothing to be done for it except to be here, then he can do that much. He's still mindful of the stitches as he slides his arm around Fenris.]

I suppose. Even so, if you need anything, you need only say the word.

[Do not be petulant about it, let him fuss. Really he would like Fenris to take a nap or something after his serious injury, but that is a far off dream...]

Now then, you wanted to hear war stories? I have years to choose from, so— ask away.

[It's pleasant to be cared for, he'd realized last week, but old habits die hard. Still: there's a certain joy to be found in the way Lorenz offers that, unthinking but honest. He hums in response, a silent I shall that he underscores with a swift kiss to the hollow of his throat.

But ah, what a question.]

I suppose my initial one would be: tell me what your conflict was over, and why you fought.

[Oh, so he wants a history lesson, huh... Lorenz is quiet for a moment, just to think of where to start.]

The Alliance's neighboring countries, the Adrestian Empire and the Kingdom of Faerghus, started a conflict of their own while we were at school. The Kingdom had once annexed the Alliance, and my family's territory borders the Empire... I fought for the continued safety and independence of the Alliance.

[He honestly couldn't say what the rest of the war was even about. Dragons? Cults? Ancient beings somehow brought back to life? The last year of the war got more muddled than it was worth.]

As for the war's origin, it was an effort to dissolve the reliance on Crests— an inheritance of noble lineage. They provide unique advantages, occasionally, but many nobles value them too highly.

[Standard rich people stuff, unfortunately.]

The Crest system has been abused by those with ill intentions, to be sure, but the malice comes from nobles with an unbridled lust for power. The Crests themselves simply are. Still, I can't say the conflict wasn't inevitable.

[A noble's war, then, and it's not inherently unfamiliar, not to him. He spent ten years of his life (and more) watching nobles play politics, never mind all of Hawke's misadventures within Kirkwall's circles.]

It typically is.

[He pulls back: not far, but just so he can see Lorenz's face, studying him in the semi-dim light. The sun has long since set, but the moons light combined with the lights from the city illuminate them both. Lorenz looks different in the neon lights than he does during the day, pale skin seeming to glow.]

So you went to war to protect others. To keep you and yours independent, and thus theoretically free.

[He hesitates, then reaches for him, fingers brushing through his hair in a rhythmic pattern.]

There must have been fights you remember in particular. Incidents or whatnot.

[There are multitudes of battles, but surely there must have been a Significant Few.]

Theoretically, yes.

[Wry, but there's a point there, as the nobility does still exist, and Lorenz knows firsthand how selfish and power-hungry most of them are. The Alliance has its own mess of problems to still be resolved, in whatever will become of the continent after the war...

But yes, theoretically. Politics are a mess as always but they're a mess he can handle, glancing away from Fenris' face to frown over his shoulder as he thinks back to incidents.]

Hmm... there was the memorable battle in which I nearly lost the use of my hand. I was careless. Here.

[He holds it up, and the thin scar between thumb and forefinger is barely visible unless one knows to look, as Lorenz has never shied away from magical healing, but it's there. Specifically there for Fenris to look at while Lorenz considers other moments; the unbelievable, over-the-top end to the war surely makes a better story than the things he remembers with startling clarity, but it's for that reason that he says instead,]

Besides that, I had friends in the Empire. [Which he'd sort of mentioned way back when, but the people running around Lunatia aren't people he liked so that's different--] I remember our brief reunions more vividly than I'd prefer.

[It's strange, not being able to automatically sense Lorenz's thoughts and feelings. HE doesn't miss the connection, precisely, but it did make moments like this easier, when all he had to do to understand was reach out.

His fingers are careful as he takes Lorenz's hand, brushing against that scar. He doesn't release his hand as Lorenz continues, instead choosing to run his thumb gently against his palm again and again.]

Were you forced to fight against them?

[Like, presumably, but there's also a difference between being on opposite sides in a conflict and actually fighting, toe-to-toe.]

[It's a simple enough action that makes Lorenz smile, albeit brief and small, appreciative of the affection and care. It isn't as if he suffers over the war day in and day out- perhaps if some of those old friends were to actually turn up here, but he's been spared that conversation- but it's hardly a walk in the park to do it now.]

Personally? No. But a familiar voice carries much easier through a crowd, does it not, particularly when... you know.

[He shifts his hand then to curl his fingers loosely around Fenris', and sighs.]

The Empire's leader is here, in this city. She and I were not close in school. Some might argue that the full responsibility for the war falls on her, but here in this world, she is... still a young girl. Quite the headache!

[Timelines, right. Fuck 'em.]

[He hums softly. Headache indeed; he can't imagine . . . what would he do if it was Anders? A younger Anders, like Isabela, not yet guilty of the crimes he'd commit. What could Fenris do? Perhaps killing him would be the responsible thing to do, but at the same time, could he?

It's a problem without a solution, and he frowns faintly.]

How many years until she does whatever it is that begins the war?

A number of weeks, as far as I'm aware. She's heard enough about her own future to be tired of hearing about it, which I can't say I don't understand.

[These Kingdom people are so whiny, it's the worst. He sympathizes with that much.]

Personally, I have about as little interest in giving any of them a second chance as I do in turning back time to stop what has already transpired. What's done is done. Going out of my way to begrudge her for whatever she does here would be... exhausting.

[He shrugs; perhaps completely avoiding the issue of facing prior classmates-slash-enemies is leaving it unresolved, but he's heard just enough "precious second chances" from his own ally to have it already soured. He would rather... take care of his dog, or literally anything else. And yet.]

Is that callous of me?

Mm. Perhaps. Certainly there are some who would say so.

[But there's nothing inherently wrong with callousness. He traces his fingers lightly against Lorenz's palm, studying the scar there, before glancing up at him.]

But not, I think, cruel. Nor selfish. There's no guarantee that any action you take in this world will carry to the next, and so to spend your time and effort on something that may ultimately not make a difference would be . . . foolish, at the very least. Exhausting, as you said. And ultimately a poor way to spend your time.

[Lightly, he tugs their joined hands together, brushing a kiss against the back of Lorenz's.]

Isabela is here, as I have said. And she is from years earlier. Perhaps I would do well to warn her in detail of what is to come. I could give her all the things she needs to change the future, but to what end? Perhaps she will succeed, and perhaps not. Perhaps by meddling, I would lead Kirkwall to greater ruin, because there are thousands of factors I cannot control, nor wish to.

I think you intelligent, Lorenz. And not callous, but practical-- and there is a difference. A boon, when blind optimism would have you constantly at this woman's doorstep, throwing hours of your days away for nothing.

[Ah, vindication... or yet again, Fenris understands this all but impossible issue, and Lorenz is glad for the honesty. He knows there are those who would consider his indifference towards mending broken bridges with old classmates callous— the difference is the lack of bias, he thinks. Specifically the lack of Fodlan bias, because Fenris' situation is similar enough to his own...

Well, it isn't as if Lorenz was going to change his mind and run after the Empire or the Kingdom people here and try to change them, or fall to his knees begging to turn back time to their halcyon school days. But it is validating to hear it called practical instead of selfish.]

Hmm. Thank you. [Earnestly, and he tilts his head down to kiss the top of Fenris' head again.] For your honesty, and for not patronizing me.

[Imagine dishing out condescending platitudes at a time like this... he'd roll straight out of this bed.]

It must be different with Isabela, [you know, because she is not a war enemy!] I have yet to meet her, but... How has she been doing with this kind of thing? These... "timelines."

[He hums softly in acknowledgement, his eyes closing.]

I suspect she tries her best not to think about it. We discussed it once, but Isabela is . . . she prefers not to linger on topics that bring her grief. I suspect because she's had too much grief in her past, though she's never told me.

She knows generally what's to come. She betrayed our companion once; I informed her that she came back, making up for it. And she knows that the city is destroyed in a few years. But she has not asked for specifics, and I have not offered them.

[It's too recent, too raw, and he tries not to think about it too much either. There's no point to it, not here and now.]

So we live in the moment, and pretend as though this is simply another city in the Free Marches. Our last discussion involved finding a new regular bar to haunt; the only thing that distinguished it from a conversation at home was the agreement we would skip over the leather bars.

[Automatically, because he has lived in Lunatia for months but has still never been to a place more adventurous than the dive bar Fenris once took him to:]

There are "leather bars"?

[It can only be... indecent to the core... Ahem. Well, anyway.]

If— if living in the moment is what suits you both, then it seems like the correct thing to do.

[Lorenz can't relate; the closest he gets to living in the moment is living with an itinerary for only the next week instead of a 5-year plan. Still: if it works, more power to them... He's very much in support of not dwelling on things that cannot- or should not- be changed.]

[His mouth twitches, but mercifully, he doesn't look up.]

They tie people up. It's a performance. As I understand it, participation is optional, but encouraged. Isabela is . . . enthusiastic, when it comes to sex and kinks.

I'll take you one evening, if you would like to see.

[He really will. Not because leather bars are, like, his Thing, but because sometimes it's amusing to gently poke at Lorenz's prim-and-proper upbringing. Love you, babe.]

To watch people be tied up?

[Chase your bliss, kinky strangers, but even without the candy coating of prim and proper, Lorenz doesn't see the appeal in watching a bunch of strangers do their thing. It's a whole new world and he is but a tourist. Sort of.]

I had a fine time when we went to your tavern, but I don't believe leather suits me.

As you'd like.

[He's still smiling faintly, though it's less out of amusement and more out of simple pleasure.]

What does suit you, if anything?

[It's not that their bedroom activities have been lacking, but he's also interested. And there's nothing wrong with discussing such things on occasion.]

Well, I've always enjoyed the weeks when you have fangs. And when you don't, incidentally.

[Bite him literally any time, he's all for it. He shifts to lean up on his elbow, thinking; he has no mental list on hand, but let's see...]

I suppose these must sound tame, in comparison... Perhaps not leather, but certain fine clothing is rather irresistible. I have been wondering as of late, as well, if I could lift you up-- and for how long.

[So great job getting stabbed in the stomach, like, today, but maybe in a week!]

You could try now, [Fenris offers, showing a worrying lack of self-preservation. But honestly, it's not as though picking him up entails a whole lot of acrobatics on his part.

And they'll come back to that in a moment, but:]

Tame doesn't equate dull. I've seen several things; that doesn't necessarily mean they're automatically better.

[It's not as if Lorenz sounds as though he's worried, but still. It's good to say so, just in case.]

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