[Fenris does as is asked of him, sitting quietly on the floor, staring at some point in the distance. He feels his stomach twist horribly, sickeningly. He hates this, being inflicted with magic- but the worst is knowing that this could very well have been his life. Varania is a mage, after all, he can't deny it being in his blood. He could have just as easily have been born with magic, and what would have happened to him then?
Certainly, it wouldn't have changed his slave status. Mages were just as likely to be slaves in the Imperium as anyone else. If you're born in the wrong class, that's just that. You're either a slave or just holding off long enough until you or someone in your family is sold into it to get by. No. His life would not have changed there.
But perhaps he would not have been chosen by Danarius. The man wanted a warrior, after all. He may very well have avoided...all of this. Perhaps even his own skewed anger towards magic would not have been. Without Danarius there, looming over as a being of pure nightmares- colouring his views on magic forever.
He exhales slowly, calm, collected. Thinking about it will do nothing. What is, is what is. His scars are what they are. He can learn to manage them better, learn to open his mind a little, but he knows he'll never be truly okay with magic. He'll never be comfortable around it. He'll always be on tenterhooks- waiting for it to strike him down. ]
no subject
Certainly, it wouldn't have changed his slave status. Mages were just as likely to be slaves in the Imperium as anyone else. If you're born in the wrong class, that's just that. You're either a slave or just holding off long enough until you or someone in your family is sold into it to get by. No. His life would not have changed there.
But perhaps he would not have been chosen by Danarius. The man wanted a warrior, after all. He may very well have avoided...all of this. Perhaps even his own skewed anger towards magic would not have been. Without Danarius there, looming over as a being of pure nightmares- colouring his views on magic forever.
He exhales slowly, calm, collected. Thinking about it will do nothing. What is, is what is. His scars are what they are. He can learn to manage them better, learn to open his mind a little, but he knows he'll never be truly okay with magic. He'll never be comfortable around it. He'll always be on tenterhooks- waiting for it to strike him down. ]