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“Fear is the heart of love.”
It was the first time Fenris could recall hearing that word. Hadriana sneered it more than said it, her nails digging into his cheek.
“Are you afraid?”
Those feelings had died long ago but he nodded. Because it was what he was meant to do. Because it was what was expected.
The way she smiled made him feel ill.
“Good.”
Fenris never loved anything less in that moment.
The word was a taunt, a lie, and he hated it too. Bile rose in his throat over the mere memory of it. Everything he could remember of that word was wrong.
Until Hawke.
Hawke used the word like breathing and somehow it felt different. There was pure intent. There was truth.
Fenris became more comfortable hearing it. When Hawke would laugh and slap Varric’s arm and declare their adoration for the dwarf he never thought of venom.
But nothing prepared him for feeling it himself.
Hawke’s lips on his, skin to skin, distracting desire… And yet there was something else. Something warm and inviting and all-together unknown.
Something he couldn’t quite remember.
“Maker, I love you.” Hawke breathed in his ear, hands in his hair, and he froze. He realized.
Perhaps Hadirana had been right, in her own vile way, because that phrase was more terrifying than anything Fenris had ever heard.
He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, and Hawke pressed a kiss to his shoulder.
“You okay?”
Monumental. Fantastical. Unbelievable.
Horrified. Terrified. Petrified.
“I’m fine.” he said, and tried to hide the desires of his heart in the desires of flesh.
But when they were through, scars burning and chest aching and mind a jumble of just things, one thing wouldn’t let him sleep. Almost like a final insult.
Fear is the heart of love. Are you afraid?
Hawke slept while he dressed. They wouldn’t have even known he left until morning if he hadn’t lingered. He didn’t want to leave. But he had to.
“I love you.” he told the coals in the fireplace, back to Hawke’s sleeping form.
When they woke, he told them “I’m sorry.” because it only felt appropriate.
Fear wasn’t meant to be the basis of love. He learned that from Hawke. To Hawke, love was a free flying bird. To Fenris, he wasn’t even sure it still had wings. He couldn’t weigh them down. He wasn’t fit for their love.
Maybe he could be. If he could find who he was before love was only fear. If he could find his sister. If he could remember what love even was.
It took years to fail so miserably, he thought later.
“I am alone.” he said, Danarius’ blood on his hands and his only family fled far from him.
“I’m here, Fenris.”
His chest hurt, but not in fear or anger. It felt good—a weighty pain. He turned to Hawke and they smiled and the ache grew.
I love you, he thought. He touched their cheek—just to see if they would pull away. They leaned in.
“I need air.” he said, hands falling to his sides limply.
Hawke nodded, lead him back through Lowtown and Hightown. They didn’t speak until they reached his door.
“You going to be okay?”
“No.” he said, then, “Please, come inside.”
They followed him through the dusty foyer. In his room, he wordlessly started a fire as they sat on one of the broken benches nearby.
There was so much he could have said. So much he could have done. None of it would come.
He apologized.
“If you could find it in your heart to forgive me…”
“I never stopped loving you, Fenris.” they said, taking hold of one of his hands.
“I know.”
Fenris kept himself from saying I’m sorry again.
“Is it—I mean, does that word upset you?”
Fenris tried to think of what the word meant now. Hadriana’s venom was gone, replaced with Hawke’s voice. Their laugh in the middle of the Hanged Man. Or their voice soft, breath on his neck. Warm and safe and right.
His chest hurt again.
“No.” he said, “Please. Say it again.”
“I love you.”
No hesitation. No question.
I love you too, he thought.
“I am yours.” he said.
Hawke smiled. Hawke knew.
He followed them back to their home, hand on their wrist in the fading dusk light, and spent the night in their arms. In the morning, he woke in what felt like a strange dream; Hawke’s weight putting his arm to sleep and their hair in his face.
It was perfect.
“I love you.” he said, not thinking.
Was that how one loved? Without thinking?
Hawke smiled, eyes still shut, and said, “I am yours.”
And Fenris never felt more unafraid.