Prompt: How do you fight something you can't see? – Fenris/f!Hawke
Fenris is a free man.
The idea rings beautiful and awkward in his mind. He is able to go where he wishes and do as he pleases. His lips will never utter the word 'master' again for he has none. And while this has remained a dream for him until now—all this privilege, this liberty—he cannot seem to grow accustomed to it now that it is his new reality.
Varric offers to buy Fenris new clothes in hopes that he may look more inconspicuous, but he refuses, saying that his markings will show no matter the attire. Truthfully, he can't fathom wearing anything else but the fitted armor assigned to him. Small baskets of food are often left at his doorstep, courtesy of Aveline and her constant concern for his health, so he politely brings it inside to rot because he cannot stomach the rich cheese or the fatty meats. He only allows himself the bread after it has turned stale. He cannot even step through the door of the mansion without pause to let the spirits enter before him, for no one else accompanies him. Fenris hates himself for it.
When Hawke visits, she shows interest in him, of all people. She is beautiful and deadly with her twin blades, and to think that she enjoys his company over the healer or even the prince… Fenris cannot help but feel both honor and shame. Slaves are not permitted these affections but she is lovely and kind and so willingly offers her heart to him as if the fragile thing will not crumble to dust in his gauntlets. So he tries—for three years he tries because she is worthy of no less—but he can feel the burning agony in his skin and the crack of a whip with each exchanged smile, each stolen glance, each unholy thought but he is not a slave, he is not a slave, HE IS NOT A SLAVE!
A wine bottle shatters against the wall in fury. Fenris's anger festers and swells until the room is pregnant with it and he knows Hawke can feel it. She is worried and upset and doesn't understand that his rage has nothing to do with her and that it's because of him—his inability to adapt. This isn't right and he isn't prepared… How does he explain that the chains are broken but his wrists and ankles are still heavy with the weight of them? How can he make her understand that he aches to be unrestrained but he simply does not know how? How does he tell her that he wants so desperately to openly love her, that he would gladly reach into his own chest and tear his heart out if she simply asked him (if that's what love means because that is one more thing he does not know and must figure out on his own), but that he is no fraction of what she deserves?
He wishes to string up his guilt and plunge his sword through its gut; feel the satisfaction as he twists the blade to have it cry out in agony before the life leaves it and it goes limp. His mind is weak, but his body is strong and disciplined and that makes him a fierce warrior. He is used to defeating his enemies.
But how do you fight something you cannot see?