Author's Note: So.. this is the first piece of fiction that I have written in 9 years. I'm just putting that out there so that you can be a bit gentle with me. I've read a lot of great Fenris/Hawke fiction lately which has inspired me to give this a try. :) I hope you like it, and I plan on adding to this story soon.
Disclaimer: Fenris, Hawke and all other characters in this story are owned by Bioware. I'm just here to play with them.
Wolf Unchained, Chapter 1
The chains greeted him as the ship slowly began its approach into the city. A bitter laugh escaped his lips at the irony of this symbolic reminder of his past, a past that he was forever running from without any hope of truly escaping it. The chains were enveloping the great and solid building of the Gallows of Kirkwall, surrounding its frame and resting heavily on its sides as a constant reminder to its inhabitants that they will never be free. Fenris gazed down at his hands, feeling the power of his lyrium brands coursing through his veins, knowing that these were his own magical chains and his eternal curse. He would never be free of them, and he would never stop feeling their weight and the pain they caused him. His shoulders slumped slightly at this dismal thought and a wave of misery and anger rushed over him. A salty sea breeze rustled his silver white hair as he glanced at the Gallows once more and the mages that resided there, his lips parting in a snarl.
"I hope you all rot in hell," he spat out, the venom in his voice full of bitterness and hatred. This earned him a lot of suspicious looks from the other inhabitants of the cabin, filthy and flea-ridden degenerate refugees that had come to Kirkwall, just like him, trying to escape the inevitable. The refugees shuffled away from him distinctly, giving him as wide a berth as was humanly possible in the dark hold of the ship, but Fenris did not seem to notice. His gaze was still fixated on the approaching tower that loomed over the ship. He had seen many similar buildings in Tevinter, and he knew that they held mages as prisoners here, rather than allowing them to rule over society, as he had been used to back in his old life in Minrathous. A feral and desperate grin spread across his face which unbeknownst to him made him look utterly insane.
Suddenly Kirkwall did not seem like such a bad place, Fenris mused as he observed the Templars who patrolled the building and its grounds. The anger and hatred in his heart was still raw, rising just below the surface, but he managed to control it by imagining all those helpless magisters, locked away in this tower for life, and the satisfaction this image gave him was deep and effective. This is where they belonged, along with their terrible and inhumane powers, locked away from the rest of the world for eternity. Here they could not lord their magic over humanity, using it to control the will of others and punishing them with it at their slightest whim. Here lives were not governed by magic, but by the power and strength of endurance and determination. Perhaps this was a place where a man could find a new life, a slave a reason to live. Fenris curled his hand into a fist, surpresing another surge of power from the lyrium inside him. He did not know how long his journey would keep him in Kirkwall, but he could definitely see the potential of this place and this comforted him somewhat.
The ship finally docked and Fenris briskly stepped out on dry land, blinking at the bright sunshine of the morning that momentarily blinded him. He was immediately surrounded by a plethora of sounds and smells that attacked him from every direction. Refugees were unloading their belongings from the ship, merchants were overseeing the transportation of their wares on the backs of enormous mules, fishermen were laughing jovially and shouting greetings to each other, carefully avoiding the swooping attacks of the occasional seagull that spotted a flapping fish in their mended nets. Fenris blended into this crowd without much difficulty as he began his journey towards the centre of the city; pretending to be invisible was something he had done for most of his life at the behest of others, and he had become increasingly efficient at it, despite his unusual appearance.
The city continued to unfold in front of his eyes as he walked along its grimy and dusty streets – every imperfection, every peel of paint was plainly visible in the strong morning sun. Fenris observed it all without giving it much thought. He had seen it all before, and he knew what all these big cities were like – a rotting, dying husk in the desert, surrounded by vultures that wanted to make the most of its corpse. Yet there was life here as well, and the pulse of the city grew strong around him, sweeping him away into the bowels of Lowtown. Later during the day he found himself nursing a jug of ale in a bar called The Hanged Man, which seemed particularly filthy and full of inane drunkards that seemed to have nothing better to do than to harass the waitress, Norah, with their ridiculous requests and groping hands. Yet Fenris did not mind the feel of this place, because he knew how incredibly useful these bars were for picking up interesting tidbits of information that might not be heard anywhere else. He pricked his sharp elven ears in the direction of a couple of men playing cards on the table closest to the bar, dockworkers by the sound of it. He listened to their conversation while continuing to casually sip his drink.
"Did yer hear about the ship that's s'posed to dock tonight?" One of the men said while throwing a couple of coins on the table. "S'posed to come all the way from Tevinter, with slavers and all," he continued. "I hear them Tevinter magisters can be a right pain in the arse to deal with," he said with a grin. "Too bad yer working tonight, eh Tommy?"
One of the other men, presumably called Tommy, scowled while looking down at his cards. "I don't mind earnin' more coin while you're fillin' Corff's pockets with yours here at the bar," he retorted and threw some money of his own in the pot. "Raise you five, George. You always were a terrible liar."
"Rubbish!" The man named George exclaimed, looking only slightly offended as he glanced at his hand. "I just hope yer can earn enough tonight so I can take it all off yer tomorrow. I'll see yer five, and raise yer ten. Whatcha goin' to do 'bout that now?"
"Damn you George, you're going to flay me alive if you keep that up," the third man folded with a groan and leaned back in his chair while he sipped on his ale. "And I hope the Knight-Commander locks those damn Tevinters up where they belong, in the blighted Gallows. Damn mages running amok with slaves! Makes me sick to the stomach, it does."
"Wasn't yer grandmother a mage, Pete? Fancy like casting a spell on yer cards? It might make them a far sight better!" George howled with laughter, to which Pete unceremoniously decided to empty the contents of his jug on George's head. The latter cried out in surprise, coughed and threw the table with all its contents on its side, after which all three men tumbled to the ground in a good-natured brawl with hands and feet flying everywhere. Seeing how few heads turned to look at the commotion, Fenris suspected that this was a very common occurrence at The Hanged Man. It also created a perfect diversion which allowed him to slip out of the bar unnoticed, into the deepening dusk of the evening. Once more he prowled the streets, breathing in the salty sea air and the strange mixture of spices and leather that seemed to linger in it.
So soon. They had found him so soon. He knew that this could not be a coincidence. He had no illusions about the fact that he was running on borrowed time, and that the slavers were hunting him mercilessly, hounding his heels wherever he went, no matter how far he tried to run away from them. They were driven by the bounty that Danarius had placed on his head, and the desire to prove their own worth to one of the most powerful magisters of Tevinter. He understood that feeling very well, because that same desire had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember.
Until he could no longer accept the monster that he had become. Until he started running from his old life, from himself, from everything that he had done, everything he had been forced to do.
And everything he had enjoyed doing.
Suddenly Fenris found himself standing by the docks once more. There were far less people around now, as most of the stalls had already closed for the day and all the merchants had packed up their wares and returned to their homes. Only a few dockworkers were seen here and there, smoking, talking lowly under their breaths, and sometimes casting a curious glance in his direction. He was aware that he was very conspicuous standing there with his lyrium markings clearly visible, seemingly easy prey for a group of slavers, like the kind that was going to dock here later tonight and begin their hunt for him through the city. A strange feeling rumbled inside him and his whole body tensed as he fought his age-old instinct of flight. As he looked up at the sea and watched the last slivers of sunlight slowly disappear behind the edge of the horizon, his eyes started filling with quiet determination.
"I will... not.. run... from you... any.. more," he growled quietly under his breath, threatening the horizon with his deadly stare. His fists were clenched, his back straight in a posture of defiance that defined him and the man he had become, although he was not aware of it. All he was aware of was the fire burning inside him, the hatred that filled his heart, and the weariness that gripped and tugged at his aching bones. He was tired of running away from the man who had made him into this monster, the man who haunted his dreams and every waking moment of his life. He could not run from his past any more, or the terrible things that lurked in the shadows of his memory. Standing at the edge of the sea, Fenris made a solemn promise to stand and fight, here in this City of Chains, until he was dead or his foes lay dying beneath his feet. He knew that he was likely going towards his own demise, but that thought strangely did not seem to bother him. Instead, he was suddenly filled with an enormous sense of relief and his body surged with savage pleasure at the thought of finally taking the fight to his pursuers and showing them that he was no longer afraid. It was very likely that they would defeat him in the end, but Fenris knew that he would not allow himself to be taken easily, and certainly not alive. He grinned at this thought as he turned around and disappeared back into the shadows of the city.
This former slave had finally come here to make his last stand.