Author's note: This is a oneshot based on weekly prompt on 'The Official Fenris Discussion thread' on the Bioware forum. The prompt I chose was 'freedom'.
The manacles rubbed against the skin of his wrists, and Fenris no longer winced at it. He'd been bound for too long, and the pain had dulled to join that from the brands that snaked over his skin. He could deal with it. He would bear it, like he had all others.
He sighed quietly in defeat. There would be no escape from his fate. The chance for a life away from slavery, away from the magister, which he had fought so hard for, had come to a close before he could even blink. Now, all he could do was wait for the men to return and haul him back to Tevinter.
The door opened, and he felt fear seize his heart and his throat closed suddenly, cutting off his air. He couldn't do this. He didn't want to go back. He couldn't go back. He'd rather die first.
One of the men came tumbling down the basement stairs and he lay motionless once he hit the ground. In the dim light, Fenris could see slashes on the man's body, and blood, black in the dimness, was slowly pooling around him.
Shocked as he was, Fenris turned to the open door. Sounds of a fierce battle assaulted his ears, the clash of metal on metal, the ripping of metal on flesh, and the shouts, screams and battle cries of several different people. It sounded like an orgy of chaos.
The light from the door was blocked momentarily as someone rushed through it. Rather than run down the stairs, or fall down them like the guard had, this person jumped. As the figure travelled through the air, Fenris watched in fascination as the light displayed their features.
It was a woman, a human woman. Her red hair was fairly short, only just reaching her chin, and it seemed to be flying after her. Her face was shrouded in shadow, and he could not distinguish her features apart from where the dim light reflected off her eyes.
She held two daggers, one in each hand, and they almost seemed a part of her as she threw her arms out to the sides as she flew over the stairs and the motionless guard. As she moved through the air, tiny fingers of fabric rippled beneath her arms, giving him the odd impression of a bird in flight that he had seen before being captured.
She landed nimbly past the downed guard, bounced a step, and then grounded herself completely. She had effectively flown past him and the cage that the men had put him in, and she didn't appear to have noticed him at all.
She twirled round to face the doorframe, and he saw her face. She was pale, paler than the humans that had caught him, and she was covered in blood spatter. But it wasn't the blood that made his heart lurch, it was her eyes. Her eyes were cold, calculating, merciless, and the fact that they were lyrium blue sent shivers down his spine.
After a moment, she straightened from the battle-ready pose she had held and relaxed. Her eyes softened slightly, though she still looked wary. It was then that her gaze flickered over to him.
Fenris was intrigued when he saw her eyes widen slightly as she stared at him. Unsure of the woman's intention, he stared impassively back. If she was uncomfortable, she didn't show it, and instead approached the cage, flipping her daggers so the blades pointed up her arms. She examined the cage and his manacles with consideration, and the calculating look re-entered her eyes.
"That's a bit excessive, isn't it?" she asked calmly. "Surely one or the other would be enough."
"They don't want me escaping," he replied bitterly.
He was surprised when she suddenly started laughing. It was a high timbre, something that seemed out of place in a dark basement where several men had just died, and even more so coming from the mouth of a woman covered in blood. And yet, beneath the gore, he could somehow see that the woman before him had a benign spirit.
"That's for sure," she noted, still chuckling before calming down. "Any particular reason why?"
Instinctively, he kept his mouth shut. From the time that he'd escaped, admitting that he'd been a slave had gotten him into more aggravation than it was worth. And, as friendly as the woman was being towards him, she was covered in blood and it had to have gotten there somehow.
"I take it you have a name?" she asked after a while. "Mine's Leanne Hawke. What's yours?"
He paused again. He didn't want this... Hawke woman to know the name the magister called him by, but he could hardly tell her that he could not remember. But, it was an understandable question, he reasoned. Things needed names, and she had given him hers. It was only fair that he do the same.
"Fenris," he stated uncomfortably.
"Fenris," she echoed before smiling. "It's nice to meet you."
He didn't reply, not honestly knowing how to reply. No one had ever spoken to him like she was, like he was a normal person, not a slave. But then again, she didn't know that he was.
"You don't talk much, do you?" she inquired curiously, continuing before he could reply. "I'm not overly good at other languages... but the writing on your manacles looks suspiciously like Arcanum."
He looked down at his wrists and back to her in shock. She was so far away, and yet she had read the writing in dim light. A feeling of dread encased him, as he visualised where the conversation was going.
"Slave?" Hawke asked.
Her tone was surprisingly quiet and sympathetic and her eyes were sad, telling that she knew the answer before she had even asked the question.
"I was," he admitted reluctantly.
Suddenly, she visibly brightened. Her eyes sparkled with something that he could not describe, and she smiled mischieviously. A few seconds later, she chuckled again, quietly, and shook her head.
"Well, considering my family, who am I to judge?" she asked rhetorically, sheathing her daggers. "Hang on, I'll have you out in a minute."
Then, without another word, Hawke knelt in front of the cage door and examined the lock. He could hear her mumble something about 'pin and tumbler' as she pulled several small clips from out of her hair. After fiddling with them, she focused on the lock and started inserting the clips and jiggling them about.
He was two seconds from asking her what she was doing when the lock went click and she pulled the cage door open. She smiled triumphantly at defeating the door, and then looked at him.
Without a word of warning, she approached him, causing him to recoil instinctively. A human walking that purposefully towards him brought up hazy but bad memories. And, as if sensing something was wrong, she stopped.
"I was just going to take those manacles off you," she explained. "Unless, you want to keep them on?"
He cursed himself for his reaction, making him look skittish. After a moment of internal berating, he calmly stretched out his wrists, and told himself not to flinch when Hawke drew near or to wince or hiss when she touched him. It was the only way he was going to get out, and he was going to bear it.
She didn't seem fazed at all by his actions, though she was slightly slower upon approaching him. Instead of asking him to raise his hands, like he expected, she knelt down before him and gently took hold of his left hand. She made him twist his wrist so she could find the lock, which was on his inner wrist, and her fingers ghosted around the restraint. Whenever she lightly brushed his brands, he would tense but remained unmoving.
It seemed like an eternity as she slowly and carefully picked the lock. She was so engrossed in her art that she failed to notice him watching her. She held her tools at the very tips of her fingers, focusing on them as much as she did the lock. Occasionally, she would frown slightly and close her eyes briefly before continuing.
The click and jolt of the manacle falling off his wrist had never felt better. There were two ugly red lines where the metal had dug into his skin, and had often felt hot. Now, exposed to the cool air, they stung slightly and tingled, especially when he flexed his hand.
It was a jolt to him when his right hand was suddenly grabbed and twisted, and he almost pulled away. But, upon seeing Hawke instantly insert her picks into the remaining shackle, he froze. He didn't know how fragile those tools of hers were, but he no intention of breaking them and his only chance at freedom.
"Just one more minute, Fenris, I'm almost done," Hawke noted gently, being far speedier than her previous attempts. "The second lock is always easier, since you know what you're looking for."
Comforted by the thought, Fenris allowed himself to relax. Although, he wouldn't deny the excitement that came from the idea of being free. And this time, he was determined not to get caught again. Miracles only struck on occasion, after all.
"Once a slave, now you're like me," Hawke murmured under her breath. "For I am a bird, and we are free."
The manacle hit the ground with a thunk as she finished off her little rhyme. As Fenris took back his wrists and massaged them gently, ignoring the pain that shot up his arms, he quirked his eyebrow questioningly at Hawke, who merely laughed in response.
"I know: my poetry needs work," Hawke stated. "Now then, shall we get out of here?"
Without waiting for a response, she turned round and left the cage. She bounded gracefully around the dead guards, respectfully not stepping on any of them, and disappeared upstairs.
Taking her example, Fenris departed the prison as well. He quickly rummaged around the basement crates, picking out the pair of gauntlets that belonged to him and the greatsword that he'd had with him when he escaped the magister. With his limited possessions returned to him, he followed Hawke up the stairs.
She was standing at the door, holding it ajar and waiting for him. She waved the moment she saw him, and he ran after her. Being half-unconscious when he'd been dragged in, he had no idea which way to go to get out, and so followed Hawke as she bolted through the building. In almost every room, there were dead guards and bounty hunters, all of whom had obviously challenged the very nimble woman in front of him and had come off for the worst.
Fenris almost ran into Hawke when she abruptly stopped in front of one door. She gave herself a quick appraisal, and frowned unhappily. She licked her fingers and wiped away at the blood on her face, ending up with only one smear across the bridge of her nose, but she didn't seem inclined to remove it.
Then, she carefully opened the door and peered outside. Apparently satisfied, she pulled it open all the way and walked out into street, with him following. The cool night air, stirred slightly by a light breeze, was blissful on Fenris' face, and he allowed himself a moment to appreciate the feeling.
"The city guard will be alerted to this building, if they haven't already," Hawke noted seriously. "Being found around here would not be the best idea, especially me being covered in blood."
Her words made sense. It would be prudent to leave the area as soon as possible. So, agreeing with her completely, he nodded in understanding.
"Normally, I'd suggest we part ways and let that be the end of it," she continued. "But... Do you have anywhere to go?"
"No, I don't," he admitted. "But that is not your concern."
"I would agree with you, but... seeing as I got you out..." Hawke trailed off, her tone uncomfortable.
Fenris stiffened. He could see where this was going. She was going to claim that because she had helped him, he had a debt with her. She would demand that he repay her. By accepting her help, he'd just enslaved himself to another.
"It would be pretty irresponsible of me if I just let you walk off," she continued. "And, you've admitted that you don't have anywhere to go. So... how about you lie low at my place for the moment? It would just be so that you have a roof over your head and get some decent meals, until we can find you a small house or an apartment that you can rent out, or something. It's only an offer; you don't have to accept it."
Fenris didn't respond, more out of shock than anything else. Freeing him had been fairly unexpected, not that he wasn't ungrateful, but her offering him a place to stay and to help him find somewhere to live... and saying that he didn't have to accept her offer.
"What do you want in return?" he asked suspiciously.
"Nothing," she replied simply. "Is it so hard to believe that I just want to help, no strings attached?"
"No strings...?" he echoed, not understanding the term.
"Yeah, I'm not after anything... except perhaps a 'thank you', but that's just me," she shrugged.
"You're not worried about my former master?" he inquired, half curious, half incredulous.
"You don't seem to be," she noted calmly.
"They know what I am," he stated factually. "Let them come, if they find the courage."
He noticed that she raised an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth tweaked into an amused half-smirk. The interest that he could see in her eyes made him wonder if he should have been more careful with his words. She seemed to pick up on the slightest detail.
"And what are you, exactly?" she asked curiously. "Because you're not just some slave. You're important, aren't you?"
"That's none of your business," he snapped defensively, uneasy with Hawke's questions.
There was silence between them for a moment. Fenris kept his mouth closed, almost afraid of telling her the truth if he dared relaxed his jaw. All the while, she gazed at him serenely.
"Fair enough," she conceded, nodding her head.
With that, she turned away and started walking down the empty street. She quickly became a silhouette as she walked from the lamps that flickered overhead. After she had walked a small distance, she slowed and stopped, turning back to him.
"Are you coming?" she called inquisitively.
After thinking his options over for a second, he slowly walked up to join her. She had offered him much more than he would have thought possible, and he knew that he would have to be a fool to decline her offer.
"I'll only stay until I can find somewhere else to live," he announced when he was close enough. "Then I'll be out of your way."
"If that's what you want," Hawke agreed, her tone understanding. "Shall we?"
She gestured to the street before them, but didn't move. Instead she watched him as he paused behind her.
All he could remember was following behind his master. He had never walked beside his master and he had never walked in front. He had once been beaten for being too close and, with the lyrium brands, it was not a lesson he would soon forget.
"You know the way," he stated.
"True," she admitted. "But you don't have to walk behind me."
He almost shook his head in amazement. This woman was unlike anyone he had ever met, well, anyone he remembered meeting.
He nodded in understanding.
Without utter another word to each other, they walked down the street beside each other. Whenever Fenris edged back, more out of habit than anything else, Hawke would cock her head to a side in curiosity, reminding him that he was allowed to walk beside her.
He had no idea what following Hawke would do to his future, but he did know two things. The first was that she had freed him, and he was going to be grateful.
And the second was that freedom was going to take some getting used to.