Author's Note:

This takes place two years before Anders blows up the Chantry, and one year after Fenris meets Varania. Rightfully at this point Fenris should have been on the run for ten years, but I don't see how the game happens in clumps instead of a steady rhythm of events. So for the sake of keeping Fenris the age I think he is, I'm going to pretend that we aren't quite yet to Act III, but Fenris has already met Varania.

David Gaider explicitly stated that Fenris was not married, just to clear that up.

Bioware owns everything except my characters (Astoria, Lysander, and more to come).

Fenris swirled the remainder of the wine around in the bottom of his bottle, listening to the liquid splash inside the glass and how it compared to the crackling hearth in the main hall of the mansion. All was quiet in Hightown, but Fenris remained inside, in the dark and expansive mansion. It was always dark in here, even when the hot sun beat mercilessly down into Kirkwall. Fenris stared stolidly at the fire. Just as he was about to move to toss another log on the fire, he heard the knocking.

He furrowed his brow at the anxious pounding on the door and put the half-emptied bottle of wine on the table. He reached for his great sword and stalked towards the entrance like a wolf preparing to attack. It was such a simple thing, but it threw his world into chaos.

No one knocked at his mansion. He kept a key hidden and only Hawke, Varric and Aveline knew where it was. He didn't trust Isabela knowing where the key was – because he knew that she'd visit him at all odd hours, and he wasn't ready for that. The only regular visitor he had otherwise was Donnic, and he knew when to expect him. This wasn't their diamondback night.

So the knocking made him tense and send thousands of panicked thoughts through his mind. He had hardly remembered that Danarius was dead, and so was Hadriana. He could stop running, stop scaring at every unexpected noise and touch. This wasn't his mansion anyway. Whoever was knocking wasn't looking for him.

He gripped the handle tightly and opened the door a fraction, peeking out with his sword ready. It was the middle of the day, and many people walked by, enjoying Hightown's streets and oblivious to the tension.

Whatever he had expected to see at the door, it was not a young woman of his own age. A human woman, a pretty woman, though she looked worn and tired. Brown curls hung down across her shoulders, some of it tied up to reveal bright blue eyes framed with thick lashes and fair skin. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of him, and Fenris saw her eyes tearing up. Two long daggers hung from her hips, but she made no move to to touch them.

She looked familiar, a thought that rooted itself uncomfortably in the forefront of his mind. He had seen her before, he was sure of it, thousands of times before. But who was she? He had no idea.

"L-Leto?" She asked tentatively, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. Fenris tensed, scowling immediately. He knew what Leto meant, that it was his name from before. His real name. But this was not his sister, and she could not be his mother, she looked younger than he and she was human. And he presumed that he didn't have another sister. "Oh, Maker, it is you!"

She lunged for him, or so he thought. Really she was stepping forward to wrap him in her arms, but the movement was unexpected, and Fenris reacted the way he normally would. His instinct told him that she was attacking him.

In an instant, he was glowing. In one fluid movement, he took her by the throat before she reached him, kicked the door shut and pushed her to the ground, straddling her stomach.

"Who sent you?" He hissed.

The woman gasped and sputtered, her hands fumbling to remove his hand from her neck, to no avail.

"L-Leto-" she could hardly say, and Fenris realized he needed to let off her throat. He loosened his grip, still scowling.

"Who are you? Who sent you?"

"Astoria," the woman gasped after a hoarse and desperate cough, "and I was told not to tell you who sent me."

He lifted her head up by the throat and slammed it back down into the floor, making her skull bounce off the stone. She yelped in pain, eyes tightly shut as hot tears pricked at their edges. "Who sent you?" He growled again.

"Varania," she gasped, her eyes wide in fear. Fenris went dizzy for a brief moment.

"What?" He shouted. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

She was trembling underneath him, choking as sobs racked her body and she held her palms out to him in surrender. "P-please, Leto-"

He loosened his grip again, his fingers only resting around her throat, not gripping, no pressure. His lyrium pulsed painfully bright. He readied himself to tear her heart out, his breathing ragged.

"Do you remember me?" She asked him, her voice overflowing with sorrow and pain. She looked like she was trying to sink into the stone floor. "No, of course you don't, you wouldn't try to k- to kill me."

"Who are you to me?" He hissed, leaning forward to bring his face closer to hers. "Why do you call me that?"

"I-I'm... your wife, Leto."

His expression changed from rage to sheer shock and disbelief, and he withdrew his hand and scrambled off her like she had physically burned him. He grabbed his sword from the ground and pointed it at her neck while he stood above her, struggling desperately to steady his emotions as he trembled.

"You lie," he sneered. "Varania would have told me in her letters!"

"No," Astoria disagreed, eyes wide and voice forcibly level, "she didn't want to tell you. We didn't want to tell you," she amended, "in case you had your own family now. We didn't want to ruin it for you -" He took a step over her and she withdrew, panic stricken across her face. "L-Leto, please, let me explain! I know you don't remember me."

Fenris growled deep in his throat while he contemplated his options.

"Danarius is dead. You have my word this is not a trap."

How did she know that? Fenris grimaced before letting his sword fall and crouching down, ripping her daggers from her belt before nodding towards the room past the entryway. "Very well." He held both daggers in one hand and retrieved his sword with the other, stalking close behind Astoria as she retreated into the room he had said.

He nodded towards a chair near the fireplace and Astoria sat in it, her expression one of horror and fear, her neck bruised with pricks of blood dripping down it. Fenris couldn't look at her.

Something unpleasant wormed its way in his stomach as he stood, leaning against the wooden table near the chair, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the tabletop.

"I have many questions. So... first, how did you find me?"

Astoria looked to be on the verge of tears again. "I've been in touch with Varania. She and I were good friends when you and I were..." she choked back a sob and Fenris arched an eyebrow, "... together. When she told me that you had contacted her... it took everything I had not to take off and find you myself. She told me eventually that you were going to meet her at The Hanged Man, here in Kirkwall. So I came here once she had met with you, and I met your friend Varric today. Supposedly he had been with you when you met Varania, so she recognized him. He told me where to find you. Please don't be mad at him, I threatened him to make him tell me."

Fenris was quiet for a moment, mulling over these thoughts. Digging the tips of his gauntlets into the wood he asked, "You threatened Varric?"

"I'm sorry." She added with a solemn nod.

He would have scoffed if the situation were not so tense. Varric may joke around, but he did not take kindly to threats, and he must have believed this woman to point her in Fenris' direction instead of unleashing Bianca on her. That gave him reason to continue interrogating her instead of murdering her, like he wanted to do.

"So you helped Varania lead me into a trap with Danarius?" The accusation flew from Fenris' lips with bitter intensity.

Horror played across her face so clearly that it looked like she had been slapped. "What? No, I... oh, Maker, Leto, this is difficult." She rubbed her temples and sighed. "I would never have turned you willingly over to that bastard, and neither would Varania." Fenris scowled and made a move towards Astoria, about to argue, but she continued, panicked. "I – I know it sounds crazy, but listen, please. Danarius used Varania, taking her as an apprentice. He used her to lure you, Leto. She never wanted to. And she never told me that Danarius would be at the Hanged Man, I didn't think that he knew you would be there."

"You were both fools."

Astoria hung her head but said nothing.

Fenris swallowed, blinking several times before clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, finally feeling himself start to calm. "So you are... friends with my sister, and she helped you find me, but didn't tell me about you. Why?"

"Like I said, Leto-"

"Fenris." He said. Seeing her confused expression he added harshly. "It's Fenris, not Leto."

"I... I'm sorry." Her eyes shut tightly as a single tear accrued on the corner of her eye, but she brushed it away quickly and steepled her fingers in her lap. "Like I said, Varania and I didn't want to ruin your life anymore. If you had a family now, a new wife, children... I couldn't take that away from you. That'd be an awful and awkward situation."

Fenris rubbed his chin, and then glanced at Astoria. "I'm sorry I hurt you." He said shamefully. "Are you alright?"

A delicate hand went to her throat as she pushed down against it with her fingertips. "I'll live."

Guilt welled inside him for attacking to near-death an innocent woman, a woman who claimed to be his wife.

"I can bring you to a healer."

"No, I'll be fine." She waved her hand.

A long and uncomfortable silence stretched between them, and Fenris looked to her daggers that he had laid on the table. They were steel with beautifully carved handles, the carvings resembling trees. They looked elven, Dalish even.

"Are you a slave as well?" He asked without even realizing it. "An escaped slave, I mean."

Astoria shook her head, searching him tentatively. "When you freed your mother and sister, you freed me as well, though Varania did not tell you that."

So there it was. More evidence that she was truthful. Fenris teetered on the brink of consciousness as the edges of his vision seemed to blur and blacken occasionally, while he slowly registered this piece-by-piece. Varania would have had to tell her for her to know that. This woman couldn't be fabricating everything, could she?

"And that is how we met?"

Astoria nodded slowly. "I was captured by slavers and brought to Master Mavion when you were fifteen. I was fifteen as well, and you immediately took to me. You taught me everything about that lifestyle. You were my rock. We fell in love eventually, as young as we were, and we remained together. We were very mature." Fenris glanced at her as she spoke of some memory that he could not recall, and saw that her face did not betray her. He wished he could remember this, some romance that he never thought could have happened. He felt guilty even, if she were telling the truth, that he couldn't remember.

"And then," she began, her voice far away and sorrowful as her blue eyes found the fire and lingered on the flames, "when you were eighteen, you offered yourself in that competition to get those... markings, to free the three of us. I wanted to stay with you, to follow you, but you spoke with Danarius and he told you what life would be in store for me if I were to come along. He told you that I would have to be a slave. You wouldn't let me come with you, you said that I needed to be free."

So this would mean that Fenris was now twenty-seven. He had never known how old he was, and he suddenly felt older than he would have imagined he was. He remembered serving Danarius for two years, and then being on the run for seven years now. "You've been looking for me all this time?"

"I lived with your mother and sister for those two years that you served Danarius, and then he showed up at our home looking for you. Obviously, you had no idea we existed, but when I found out that you were free, I started looking." Astoria sagged into the chair, not moving her eyes from the flames. Fenris blinked, unsure if his head was going to explode.

He analyzed everything she said, every movement of her eyes and fidgeting of her fingers, to find a hint of a lie in her words. But she seemed truthful, and part of him actually wanted to believe her. Having no past, no remembered past anyway, was a difficult burden to bear, though he had acclimated to such. He wanted to know this whole time if he had had a family. And then he met Varania and had regretted that wish.

"Why keep looking?"

Her gaze shifted to his then, and the intense look she gave him made him briefly reconsider his question. "I am not expecting you to come run off into the sunset with me, Le- … Fenris. But. Ah, Maker's breath," she dropped her head in her hands and reconsidered her words, her shoulders heaving.

"But what?" His voice conveyed a panicked tone, more than he had wanted it to.

"We... we have a son, Fenris." She looked up at him, measuring his reaction.

It felt like a physical blow. He sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, jade eyes darting to hers. "What?"

"I-I'm sorry." She sounded truly genuine, he had to admit.

"How is that possible? He'd be..."

"He's nine years old." She finished for him solemnly, hands folded in her lap. "I only found out that I was pregnant just after you went with Danarius to get those," she gestured towards his markings. "You had black hair then." She added this in a far away tone, as if she had forgotten he was there.

He furrowed his brow, but could scarcely do more than try to comprehend. Then he regarded her harshly and demanded, "And where is this child now?"

She flinched like she had been slapped, and Fenris realized how much his choice of words would sting if in fact, she was telling the truth.

"He's been... taken, by a magister. Two years ago. Actually it was when Varania had heard from you for the first time, she was already working with Danarius, so he must have known about the letter. The magister, the other one, invaded our home and ripped him from me. I should have seen the connection then. I imagine that one of Danarius' colleagues took him as collateral, in case... you know, in case you killed Danarius. I didn't see it then, I thought they were unrelated."

Fenris thought he was going to self-destruct, just by hearing the words and what they implied. Why did they hound him so relentlessly? "And you expect me to save him?" She didn't nod or respond, and he felt himself trembling. "Can you prove that you are who you say you are?"

"Yes. I have a letter from Varania. She was going to mail it to you, but then decided she didn't want you to know about me just yet. I'm surprised. You couldn't read when I knew you. I'm proud of what you've done."

Fenris swallowed hard, finding that he could not grasp his voice or the words to go with it. No one had said that they were proud of him, except when he had killed the Fog Warriors. But this was different.

So she knew that he shouldn't be able to read. She knew more about his past than he did, it seemed. Her timing was right – she knew that he had been running for seven years, served Danarius for two years prior to that. She knew that Danarius was dead. She knew Varania.

Fenris couldn't find any words, so he fell into an armchair and gazed distantly at the fire. A long time passed before he saw Astoria shift in her seat and his gaze flickered to her. She looked so sad, so tired.

The firelight danced on her beautiful face and Fenris had so many questions, but couldn't bring himself to ask them at the moment. He watched her large blue eyes turn, uncomfortable from his piercing gaze, to the fire. She didn't look to be breathing for some time, her slender fingers playing with the leather on her trousers.

A knock came upon the door, startling Astoria, but Fenris remained seated in the chair, unmoving. A key was being wiggled in the door, and after a quick couple seconds, the door opened.

Fenris glared at the doorway as Varric stepped in, face serious for a change. He looked anxious.

"Oh good. I was worried Broody would have killed you."

"Broody?" Astoria asked him as he shut the door behind him and stepped closer to them. Confusion left her face after a moment. "You mean Le... oh, Maker, sorry. Fenris."

Varric nodded, turning to look at Fenris, who was scowling. "Beautiful here wanted me to bring you these, in case you did kill her." Varric pulled out a small stack of vellum wrapped in thin leather. Fenris glanced at Astoria, brow furrowed and lips curled down.

"You were expecting me to attack you?" It was disappointing for no one to have any faith in him, not that he felt he would deserve it.

"She wasn't," Varric interjected, "I was, however. And it looks like you did." Varric made a point to look at Astoria's neck. "Maker's breath, Fenris, take her to see Blondie."

"I'm fine," Astoria said, glancing apprehensively between the papers and the men.

"What is this?" Fenris asked as Varric dropped the stack into his lap, eyeing the stack.

"Your proof." Astoria answered, tensing in her seat. Fenris mirrored this subconsciously, and held the stack between his hands. "Varric and I thought it would be a good idea to give that to you after you've slaughtered me and calmed down," she said bitterly, "because he knows you better than I do at this point, and said that you'd destroy the papers in the heat of the moment."

Fenris glared at Varric, though he knew the dwarf was probably right.

"Do you believe her?" Fenris asked.

The dwarf knitted his brow in worry, glancing at the stack. "Absolutely." Varric turned to Astoria and said under his breath, "Did you tell him about Lysander?"

Astoria nodded, a small movement, but Fenris caught the interaction. "Lysander?"

Her blue eyes found his and it seemed to sting her painfully. "Our son."

He liked the name. This thought made Fenris pause as he turned the stack over in his hands cautiously, not wanting to open it yet. Of course he liked the name. She would know him well enough to name her son a name that he liked, right?

But it was a strange name, even he had to admit. Astoria caught his curious eye and spoke softly.

"It means 'he who is freed.'" She explained, her voice calm and warm, like a summer evening. Fenris looked up at her through his white hair. "Your mother chose it."

He felt something in his stomach churn. All he knew of his mother was that he must have loved her enough to fight for her freedom, and that she was now dead.

Varric was watching the interaction with enough focus and scrutiny to possibly fry an egg under his gaze. It was so uncharacteristic of him that it almost made Fenris scoff, but he couldn't.

"What proof is in here, specifically?" His voice cut through the dim room, half a plea.

Astoria rubbed her brow, her shoulders drooping. "The letter from Varania is in there. Lysander's documents are there, as well as your own – about your births."

Fenris' breath hitched in his throat. Astoria gave him a polite smile, a forced one, before she continued. "There is a letter from your mother, it was translated though since she could not write, and drawings of you and I many years ago that your sister drew. She is quite the artist, actually, along with her other talents."

Fenris was quiet for a few moments, his thoughts racing, before gently pulling the rawhide strap binding the thin leather. The straps fell and he pulled back the wrapping, before turning towards Astoria.

"How did we get married if we were slaves?"

"Your mother performed this Elven Marriage ritual for us. It was beautiful, though we had to do it in secret in the middle of the night. We can pretend it never happened, if you wish, and I can go my own way." She frowned, and something about her expression told Fenris that this caused her great pain.

Fenris furrowed his brow. He looked to Varric who was standing there awkwardly. "Uh, Varric-"

But Varric was already ducking out and heading for the door. "I'm on it, Broody. Listen, good luck. Astoria, let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you, Varric. It was lovely to see you."

"You too, Beautiful."

The door clicked shut and Fenris sighed, the weight of the situation nearly suffocating him. "If we can pretend it never happened, then it isn't binding?"

Astoria sadly shook her head. "The elves are so rarely allowed to have anything, let alone a binding marriage. I understand if you want nothing to do with me, I know that you see me as a stranger, but... whether or not you are the man I loved," he noted that she did not say 'love,' though it was possibly to keep him from panicking, "you deserve to know your child. If you wish to, of course."

Fenris studied the vellum in his lap; stacks of sheets each folded like individual presents. He wondered what the top one was, his fingertips brushing the material. "And if I wanted nothing to do with him?"

She kept her face stoic, his clear harshness seeming to have no effect on her. "Then I would go find him myself, if I have to burn all of Tevinter down in my path. Without your help." She nodded at the end.

Fenris' fingers curled, as if he were going to ball a fist but he caught himself and unfolded the top piece of vellum, tilting it towards the firelight. Astoria gazed at him intently as he began to read the loopy, feminine handwriting.

Leto,

As I have said in my last letter, I am so pleased that you are alive. Now that we know that you've lost your memory, I'm not angry with you anymore. I had hoped that when you would escape Danarius that you would come to us, meet your son and see your wife again. You would have come to see us immediately, I suppose, if you could remember. Lysander looks just like you. He's seven now. Same dark hair, same bright jade eyes. He fights too – Astoria taught him. When they spar, he gets the same look on his face that you used to get when you'd get mad at me or when you'd concentrate on something.

I've agreed to be Danarius' apprentice. With Mother dead, I have little else to do here in Tevinter unless I wish to be a slave again. And I'm not going to throw your sacrifice away. If you do end up back here and with Danarius, I will try to watch over you. I know that won't come across the way I want it to, and I'm sorry. I was never very good with words. That was you.

Fenris looked up. Astoria was holding her fingers on her lips, watching him carefully, almost looking scared. She cleared her throat.

"She didn't finish it," Fenris said, trying to keep calm.

"She didn't want you to think she was still mad at you. And," Astoria gestured vaguely, "we decided that it be best not to throw a wife and kid in your face through a letter."

Fenris nodded. This situation was starting to make sense to him, and something about that bothered him. Warily, he gazed at the letter. Her writing was the same as he remembered from her letters to him, though at the time he had had Hawke read them for him.

He carefully, delicately folded the letter and put it on the table beside him and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to steady his breath. Astoria didn't take her eyes off him.

He had a child. He couldn't keep the thought from invading his mind, blaring and screaming at him. He wondered if this was some cruel joke, or some terrible dream where he'd wake up in his lonely bed in his lonely and disgusting mansion, and spend his day assisting Hawke on pointless errands.

When he glanced at Astoria sitting across from him, he realized that he had slept with her, if this were the case. He hadn't known that he had had sex before, or made love rather, and he wondered what it had been like. What was she like? If he had loved her once... Fenris had no idea what he was like back then. Was he agreeable? Loud? Playful? Everything he wasn't today?

He dropped his hand back to the stack of sheets and carefully opened the next piece of vellum. It was a simple sheet, documenting Lysander's name, physical features and mother's name (signed). Beside the father's name, there was nothing. He was born on the 20th of September, 9:26 Dragon. It was signed by a city councilor in Minrathous, stamped with the city's logo.

The next was his own certificate of birth. He didn't mean to sharply inhale when he saw his name written in clear print: Leto, first born son of Sharna. Race: elf. Eyes: green. Hair: black. Date of birth: 1st of May, 9:08 Dragon. City of birth: Seheron. It was also signed the city councillor, though a different one with the Seheron logo.

Fenris felt his heart clench as he put the sheet down on top of his son's, feeling almost too sick to breathe. So his mother's name was Sharna. He really was from Seheron. His birthday was coming up in just over a month, and he hadn't even known.

Fenris leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, trying to breathe and keep from passing out or vomiting. He wasn't sure which he would do.

And then Astoria was out of the seat, and Fenris felt a panic rush through him. He had to sit up, be able to defend himself in case she turned on him. But she grabbed an empty bowl on the table and held it out it to him. His shoulders shook and he wretched into the bowl and Astoria stood beside him, vigilant but out of reach, as if sensing his discomfort with proximity.

He stood up and disposed of the bowl and its contents outside, leaving Astoria in the dilapidated, huge mansion by herself only for a moment. When he came back inside he nodded to her.

"I'm sorry to put this on you, L- Fenris." She took a breath and stepped away from him as he headed back towards his seat. "I know this must be incredibly difficult."

Fenris grunted an incoherent reply and collapsed back into the chair, rubbing his forehead, pushing some white hair out of his eyes. He cleared his throat and lifted the next sheet, unsure if he would be able to stomach whatever it was.

This one was a drawing done in black and white, and Fenris studied it for several minutes. It was of a male elf and a female human. It only took him a moment to realize it was him and Astoria.

In the drawing, he was laying down on the grass, on his back. His head, crowned in dark hair, rested in her lap as she sat against a tree with her legs out straight. One arm was thrown over his head, palm against her leg as her fingers on one hand ran through his hair, while her other palm rested on his chest. The woman had a flower in her hair, tucked behind her ear.

They wore awful clothes, practically hanging off them in shreds. They were so thin as well, Fenris found it hard to believe that he had looked so famished at one point. He had no markings, and it looked strange on him. Astoria looked similar in the drawing – beautiful, young, but also famished. She looked softer as well, more naïve and less mature than she did now. Not determined.

They both were smiling, laughing even, looking lovingly at each other with such adoration it almost made Fenris sick again.

Fenris looked up from the drawing, embarrassed with how soft it made him seem. "Varania drew this?"

The slightest smile tugged at Astoria's lips, but she didn't let it bloom. "She would always sit somewhere and draw us, draw what she saw."

"Well..." Fenris began, clearing his throat and putting the drawing down gently, "if I had killed you, I suppose I'd feel terrible about it now, looking at this."

It was a dry attempt at a joke, but Astoria made a sound in her throat, eyes wide. Fenris looked at the drawing again where it lay on the table. Had he really been like that once? So animated, so... happy?

"Which one is the letter from my mother?"

"The bottom one," Astoria answered softly. He realized it must sound rude to her, to want to pass through the rest of the pictures, but he wanted to look at them later and in private when no one was watching his facial expression like a hawk. "It's very intense."

Intense he could do, usually. But sentimental was another deal, and he felt wary.

Fenris removed the rest of the stack except for the last letter, which was not folded in individual sheets but all together. There were about ten other drawings that had made up the rest of the stack, but he set them aside and considered opening his mother's letter.

"Would you like some wine?" He asked, turning the letter over in his hands, glancing up at Astoria.

A wave of relief seemed to hit her and she nodded fervently. "Please."

He stood and went to the cellar, grabbing a bottle and two dusty wineglasses, blowing the dust from them and going back to the main room. Astoria's hand flew from her face, and he realized she may have been crying in his absence, but he said nothing and poured them both a glass.

When he sat back down he sighed, feeling a throbbing headache coming on. He opened the letter slowly and began to read.

My dear Leto,

I'm afraid I do not know where to begin. Every day I pray that you will show up at our door and we'll all run away together. I'm sick now, and so I'm having Astoria write this for me, because I fear that I will not be seeing you before my time.

Oh Leto, I wish you were here with us now. Astoria was with child when you left, I wish you could see him now. He's full of fire and life, so much like you were. Astoria tells him stories about you when she puts him to sleep. Varania says it is because you're boring – but she secretly knows nothing could be further from the truth. You two were the sun and the moon, and such a delight.

She doesn't always know how much you love her, but Varania loves you just as much. I know you two would never admit it between all of your bickering, but you do love each other. She cries herself to sleep sometimes over everything – over the boon you had when you won that competition. We feel guilty, my dear Leto, I never would have wanted you to sign yourself over to that have given us the greatest gift of all, but for me it is not a gift.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but losing you has been the most difficult thing to have ever gone through. Instead of hearing you and your sister bickering, something I miss terribly now, I see Astoria and Varania comforting each other on dark and silent nights. Instead of seeing you playing pranks on us and sneaking flowers from the gardens to put in Astoria's hair, or wine bottles from master Mavion's cellar, I see a miniature version of you who I can tell will do the same things when he is older because he is so much like his father. He looks so much like you it makes me laugh and cry and sometimes I cannot stand it.

I don't know when or if you'll ever get this letter. Currently we live in a barn in the Tevinter countryside, while I look after my perfect grandson, while Varania and Astoria help the farmers. They do an amazing job taking care of me with my illness, and everyday I think of how lucky I am to have them in my life, but always missing you. Your absence is like a hole in our hearts. I want you to stay the sweet and wonderful man you have grown to be. I want more than anything for you to be happy, Leto. I never told you this, but Leto means 'he who is always happy'. Be always happy, my dear Leto.

I love you.

Fenris's hands were shaking when he dropped the letter and his vision blurred, but he had no tears. He reached for his wineglass and drank from it, nearly emptying its contents. He wanted to fill the silence, but he couldn't think of anything to say. The cackling of the fire seemed intrusive, sucking the air out of the room and leaving him with a barrage of thoughts, circling his sanity.

He was convinced now, that Astoria was telling the truth. The realization washed over him and he dropped his head in his hands. He had nearly killed his wife today. He had nearly taken Isabela up on her offers recently, wondering what bad could come of it, and suddenly he was glad that he hadn't.

He had a child out there who was taken by a magister. He imagined what this encounter looked like. By then his mother had died, and Varania was working with Danarius, meaning Astoria was on her own with Lysander.

When he looked up at Astoria he saw that she was crying, silently, watching him. She knew what it said, it was obvious, she had written it, written his mother's thoughts.

"I have a question," he began, tapping his gauntleted fingers against the armrest, "Why didn't the magister kill you when he came for your son? And I guess, why didn't he take you as well?"

"I think it was a big plan, to get me to find you. They wanted me to lead you back to Tevinter, I think. To get your help to claim revenge. About a year before you met Varania, they came for Lysander – a different magister. I'm sure Danarius told him about our child. To them, your markings are valuable. They would kidnap a child to get you back."

Her voice was heavy with sorrow, like saying the words pained her. Fenris groaned quietly though he felt like screaming. This was all an elaborate plan, a trap, and she knew it, but she seemed desperate.

Astoria stood, her glass of wine empty. "I'll leave, Fenris. Give you space to think."

He shot her a look and nodded slowly. "Where are you staying?"

"The Hanged Man."

His wife, though he couldn't think of her that way, was staying at that filthy place, of all places. His mansion wasn't much better, but it didn't have any STD's on the surfaces, and that was surely a step up. Still, he couldn't offer it. He nodded and stood, waving to her daggers as he reached for his own sword and strapped it to his back.

"I'll walk you there. It isn't safe."

She didn't argue, and they stepped out together into the warm spring evening, both forever changed. Kirkwall loomed all around them, imposing and suddenly not feeling at all like home.