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Varric had told him "freedom must be a terrible burden". Even Varania, a woman that he had not seen in years, had said that she looked at him and said that she did not envy his freedom. They did not understand.
Freedom was the furthest thing from a burden that Fenris had ever experienced.
Do not get him wrong; freedom was not easy. Freedom was not even fun. Freedom was something that Fenris had acquired through struggle and turmoil, and even now, it weighed unfamiliar against his skin, twisting into his stomach and heart, turning around in his head to leave him confused, breathless, wary.
To people like Varric, who had had freedom their whole lives? They did not understand.
Fenris did not fault them, of course. They had lived their lives with oppression, distaste, and prejudice thrown at them, but they had been free to come and go from the people that spouted those vile thoughts. They had spent their lives being able to fight for themselves. Fenris had lived with that oppression, distaste, and prejudice - and abuse, and taunts, and degradation - for his whole life, but he had been unable to stand up for himself. Or maybe he had, but what he had told Hawke before still stood: when he was a slave, he did not know what else he could be. Now that he was not, the possibilities were endless.
That was... that was...
He still looked over his shoulders in the more shadowy parts of town. He still slept with a blade propped against his bed. He took too long to decide which food to buy at the market, and he startled awake with the ghost of fear when he fell asleep sitting next to the fire (master will decide what you eat, master will decide when you sleep).
Freedom was not easy, and freedom was not fun. But freedom was the one thing - save a certain person in his life, now - that Fenris would fight tooth and nail to never give up. Not now. Not that he had tasted it. Even if it was difficult, even if it frustrated Fenris with his inability to let the past go.
He had once fought for his master. Now he fought for himself.
So, it was not easy going, and yes, he could go anywhere that he wanted to now, but the fact was, he did not want to. When he did, he would. Not until. That was his choice. The fact that he had the ability to make that choice was scary, but it was his. So, he would stay, he would go, any time that he wanted.
It wasn't quite simple. But it was there, and that was enough.
"Apples or oranges?"
Fenris jumped a little as Hawke came up next to him. He cursed the lapse in concentration, or, rather, the fact that he had been concentrating too hard on fruit to notice anything else around him. "Excuse me?"
"Apples or oranges?" Hawke repeated, gesturing to the fruits sitting by. "I know you like apples, but I've seen you have oranges at your place, too. Have you tried these? They're new." He pointed to a fruit that Fenris did not know the name of. "They're from Orlais. Sour, actually. I don't like them."
Fenris shook his head. He didn't even know the name of the food, let alone having made it far enough to try something new just yet. He was slow, but he was trying.
"Don't," Hawke advised, grinning. "You know, I think I'll get some apples, too. See if I can get Orana to make pastry with them." He brushed around him to the apples, looking for the best of the bunch.
Oh, that did sound nice. There. He had decided. Lifting his chin slightly, Fenris touched Hawke's arm for attention, and gestured to the apples. "Can you pass me two of those?"
Hawke nodded. "Yeah, sure. Apples instead of oranges, then, huh?"
Fenris shook his head. "Both," he said firmly, and reached for the oranges, too.