[fic] amare et sapere 1/?
Title: Amare et Sapere, 1/?
Author: amasaglajax
Rating: PG
Author Notes: This is set in the world of Dragon Age. If you are unfamiliar with Dragon Age, I strongly suggest you read the primer for this fic here. Also, can I have an author tag? Thanks~
”You’re new,” remarked a high, lively voice, breaking Sam out of his stultifying boredom.
Sam squinted through the visor of his heavy helm. The voice had come from a tall, slender young man marked as an apprentice mage by the style of his russet robes. Blue-green-blue eyes met Sam’s directly with neither challenge nor fear, only curiosity.
How the apprentice could tell Sam apart from any other Templar was beyond Sam’s ken; Sam could barely tell himself apart from any of his barracks-mates once they were in full kit. What about him came across as so obviously new? Sam wondered uneasily.
The young man stood before him, clearly expecting some sort of response. Sam thought fast. Templars were strongly discouraged from chumming around with the mages they protected, as it was harder for them to properly ward their charges if they grew overly attached or exceedingly emotionally involved. Fresh out of training, Sam had great hopes of becoming a field Templar and hunting dangerous illegal mages for the Chantry, but all Templars had to put in time at the Circle Tower before they were even considered for such positions.
So here Sam was, and he had no intention of getting stuck here over one chatty student. He jerked his chin upwards, breaking the mage’s gaze, and cleared his throat.
“Right, right. Wouldn’t want to obscure the holy purity of your cause, deigning to talk to us. Well done, right by the book,” said the young man loftily, arching fine dark brows. He crossed his arms. “And we aren’t supposed to talk to you, either, not that that stops us. We are all cooped up here together, you do realize.” He smirked a little. “Your eight-hour shifts standing around in full plate in front of the same old boring door must be so entertaining while you’re piously ignoring us. What do you do, though? Recite the Chant in your head? Count the bricks in the wall? I’ve always wondered.”
Sam shifted on his feet uncomfortably, his armor plates scraping against one another.
“You can tell me. We don’t bite.” The mage stepped forward, waving a hand in front of Sam’s visor like a healer tracking the gaze of a concussed patient. “I know someone’s in there, Ser Knight. You don’t have to hide behind all that steel.”
Sam set his jaw and took a deep breath, reaching up to gently push the young man’s hand aside. His gauntlet made his own hand seem huge in comparison, silver and monstrous against the mage’s naked, slender fingers. But the mage’s face lit. “The golem moves!” he exclaimed, putting both hands behind his back demurely as he leaned in not at all demurely.
It was ridiculous for a man in massive armor to recoil from a mage in robes, Sam told himself as the young man’s eyes were suddenly brought much closer to his own, remaining stolidly put. Blue-green-blue was about right; the mage’s eyes canted upwards, uncommonly bright, a swirl of color like spring leaves and lyrium.
“But does it speak?” the mage continued, quirking an eyebrow delicately. “Here. I’ll start this off.” Long fingers splayed flat on his own chest, the mage lifted his chin, cleared his throat, and stated, “My name is Kurt. And you are…?”
“…Samuel,” Sam said reluctantly, his voice a little hoarse from hours of disuse.
“Ser Samuel speaks at last!” Kurt clapped his other hand over the first, smiling. “Brave Ser Samuel, speaking to a real live mage! Charmed, I’m sure.”
Giving his full name had been intended to keep a proper distance between himself and the mage, but from the teasing lilt of the apprentice’s dulcet voice, it had done anything but.
“Next time, we’ll see if we can get that tin pot off your head. You have lovely eyes. Wonder what the rest of you is like?” Kurt - the mage, Sam corrected himself instantly, the mage - executed a mocking little bow, clear eyes flicking up beneath long lashes for a last inscrutable look before the mage turned and swanned down the corridor, robes whirling with his graceful walk.
Belatedly, Sam returned his gaze to the wall in front of him. Back to counting bricks, he told himself, as though the apprentice’s pointed, elegant features didn’t linger in his memory, as though he couldn’t still sense the diaphanous trails of a great young power poised, disconcertingly, to bloom.
Author: amasaglajax
Rating: PG
Author Notes: This is set in the world of Dragon Age. If you are unfamiliar with Dragon Age, I strongly suggest you read the primer for this fic here. Also, can I have an author tag? Thanks~
”You’re new,” remarked a high, lively voice, breaking Sam out of his stultifying boredom.
Sam squinted through the visor of his heavy helm. The voice had come from a tall, slender young man marked as an apprentice mage by the style of his russet robes. Blue-green-blue eyes met Sam’s directly with neither challenge nor fear, only curiosity.
How the apprentice could tell Sam apart from any other Templar was beyond Sam’s ken; Sam could barely tell himself apart from any of his barracks-mates once they were in full kit. What about him came across as so obviously new? Sam wondered uneasily.
The young man stood before him, clearly expecting some sort of response. Sam thought fast. Templars were strongly discouraged from chumming around with the mages they protected, as it was harder for them to properly ward their charges if they grew overly attached or exceedingly emotionally involved. Fresh out of training, Sam had great hopes of becoming a field Templar and hunting dangerous illegal mages for the Chantry, but all Templars had to put in time at the Circle Tower before they were even considered for such positions.
So here Sam was, and he had no intention of getting stuck here over one chatty student. He jerked his chin upwards, breaking the mage’s gaze, and cleared his throat.
“Right, right. Wouldn’t want to obscure the holy purity of your cause, deigning to talk to us. Well done, right by the book,” said the young man loftily, arching fine dark brows. He crossed his arms. “And we aren’t supposed to talk to you, either, not that that stops us. We are all cooped up here together, you do realize.” He smirked a little. “Your eight-hour shifts standing around in full plate in front of the same old boring door must be so entertaining while you’re piously ignoring us. What do you do, though? Recite the Chant in your head? Count the bricks in the wall? I’ve always wondered.”
Sam shifted on his feet uncomfortably, his armor plates scraping against one another.
“You can tell me. We don’t bite.” The mage stepped forward, waving a hand in front of Sam’s visor like a healer tracking the gaze of a concussed patient. “I know someone’s in there, Ser Knight. You don’t have to hide behind all that steel.”
Sam set his jaw and took a deep breath, reaching up to gently push the young man’s hand aside. His gauntlet made his own hand seem huge in comparison, silver and monstrous against the mage’s naked, slender fingers. But the mage’s face lit. “The golem moves!” he exclaimed, putting both hands behind his back demurely as he leaned in not at all demurely.
It was ridiculous for a man in massive armor to recoil from a mage in robes, Sam told himself as the young man’s eyes were suddenly brought much closer to his own, remaining stolidly put. Blue-green-blue was about right; the mage’s eyes canted upwards, uncommonly bright, a swirl of color like spring leaves and lyrium.
“But does it speak?” the mage continued, quirking an eyebrow delicately. “Here. I’ll start this off.” Long fingers splayed flat on his own chest, the mage lifted his chin, cleared his throat, and stated, “My name is Kurt. And you are…?”
“…Samuel,” Sam said reluctantly, his voice a little hoarse from hours of disuse.
“Ser Samuel speaks at last!” Kurt clapped his other hand over the first, smiling. “Brave Ser Samuel, speaking to a real live mage! Charmed, I’m sure.”
Giving his full name had been intended to keep a proper distance between himself and the mage, but from the teasing lilt of the apprentice’s dulcet voice, it had done anything but.
“Next time, we’ll see if we can get that tin pot off your head. You have lovely eyes. Wonder what the rest of you is like?” Kurt - the mage, Sam corrected himself instantly, the mage - executed a mocking little bow, clear eyes flicking up beneath long lashes for a last inscrutable look before the mage turned and swanned down the corridor, robes whirling with his graceful walk.
Belatedly, Sam returned his gaze to the wall in front of him. Back to counting bricks, he told himself, as though the apprentice’s pointed, elegant features didn’t linger in his memory, as though he couldn’t still sense the diaphanous trails of a great young power poised, disconcertingly, to bloom.