Author's Note:

Not many people read these notes. Usually, I am one of them. In this case, however, I really hope that many will read this message as I feel it is important to understanding what I'm hoping to do. This story is different from anything I've ever done and is, by far, the largest project I've ever undertaken aside from the writing of my original novel. It is as much a tribute to the creators and writers of Dragon Age as it is a personal challenge.

The Griffon's Cry will be the first part of a multi-segment story (The Chronicles of the Fateshapers) that takes place before, during, and after the Fifth Blight in Ferelden. Inquisition is coming out in just a few months, and it is my hope that I will finish this segment before its release so that I may continue the chronicles in the new world of Dragon Age. At this point, many of you will ask - is this just a rehash of all the events in novel form?

No. Not in the least. Naturally, some of the main points of the story will be the same as the cannon world. But, what will be different is how the story itself unfolds. The changes will be major in some parts and minor in others, but I can promise you one thing for certain: this won't be like anything you've ever read before. Prepare to go on an adventure that spans years and to meet incredible and unique characters as well as old friends.

I sincerely hope to hear from my readers. Every word you send helps inspire me to work harder and to do my best. I know this is the age of lurking, but if you read this story and enjoy it, please let me know :) I reply personally to each review, as I treasure every one.

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Chronology:

Book I - The Griffon's Cry

Book II - The Saarebas

Book III - Path of the Dreamwalker


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Dragon Age: Chronicles of the Fateshapers

Book I: The Griffon's Cry

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Prologue


Arianwen felt the sword burning, melting through her leather gloves and flaying the skin from her palms. A bright light surrounded her, enveloping her senses and blinding her. She looked to the sky in an attempt to avoid it, but even then it crept into her vision, reminding her of the sun itself. Dimly, she heard someone screaming in her voice, the sound a desperate and haunting echo of the agony that rent through her very soul. Her ears filled with a thousand other screams – the shrieks of Darkspawn and the agony they felt at losing their leader. She felt her grip on consciousness fading and desperately tried to let go of the weapon in her hands. Yet, no matter how she writhed and pulled, her body refused to obey.

After what felt like lifetime upon lifetime, she felt her fingers loosening. The sword dropped from her grasp. She wavered for a moment, wondering if this was the end. Golden eyes looked down upon the dead body of the Archdemon, the dragon now nothing more than a dry husk at her feet. She brought her hands into her line of vision. Something told her that she should have been repelled at the bloody mess she was seeing, but another part insisted that such trivialities no longer mattered. Exhaustion flooded her veins, running deeper than her skin. Her bones felt like eggshells, ready to snap at the slightest movement. She looked back to the sky, wondering for the thousandth time if there was someone watching her – if there was indeed a Maker who would welcome her to his side.

How did it come to this?

The skies were tainted with smoke and ash. The winds would carry signs of the destruction of Denerim far and wide. Instinct whispered that she would not live to see what would become of it – that she was dying. The clouds tilted. Up became down. She was so far gone that she hardly felt the impact of her body upon the solid ground. At first, she heard her heart beat. Then she stopped hearing anything at all. Arianwen's hands rested on her stomach, where she felt the contours of her armor. Beneath, blood flowed freely from numerous wounds in her side – the place where the Archdemon had nearly bitten her in half. She knew that she should have been afraid. These were her final moments, after all.

Yet…she was not. All she wanted was to close her eyes and sleep. She'd seen so much in the time she'd been given to walk this realm – perhaps too much. Was this not a glorious way to end it all? Her death would be remembered for all time – the single life that was given to save thousands more. Ferelden would remember her as Arianwen, the Hero of the Blight.

No. They will not. They will never know you, for you have never been yourself. They will remember Ellissa Cousland, not you.

The bitterness of that realization made her want to weep. Tears stung her eyes, but she was too weak to shed them. Slowly, her eyelids drooped down until her eyes were closed.

How did it come to this?

"Arian! Arian! Maker, please, don't let her be dead…"

No. Go away. Let me sleep. I am so very tired of pretending – of living a life that is not my own.

"Arian!" Something pushed against her chest, forced her eyes to open. A voice, one that she treasured more than anything else in this world, demanded that she wake up this instant. She did so, but only because she'd never been able to deny that voice anything. Above her, Alistair's beautiful silver eyes bore into hers. A sheen of tears obscured the color, dulling it. Golden hair fell forward to brush against a mark on his cheek – one identical to hers – a symbol of the hardships they'd faced together. Seeing the deep-seated sadness in those incredible eyes hurt more than any of her wounds.

"Don't cry…don't cry for me, Alistair." She wondered who he was seeing – Arianwen of no past, or Ellissa Cousland of no future. Did it matter?

"Arian," he gasped, his brow furrowing. "Arian, love, where is your amulet?" He looked around for it, pulling her against him.

"It doesn't matter anymore," she reassured him. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," he insisted, his voice shaking with emotion.

"They will all know now. They will all see." Her head lolled against his arm, her strength disappearing. Above her, she heard him suppressing sobs. "Don't cry. You are a king. You must be strong."

"Sten!" he shouted, ignoring her. "Sten!" Alistair shifted her awkwardly in his arms, clearly concerned about jostling her injuries. She tried to make her last moments count, to breathe in Alistair's scent as her cheek rested against the frigid metal of his armor. Arianwen heard her beloved saying something, but was too tired to try to make out all the words.

"…must I do?" Sten's voice demanded, a desperate quality there that she'd never heard before.

"Take her. Please. I cannot carry her with a broken arm. We must….to Wynne…courtyard."

"…about Kadan's amulet. She must not be without it."

"No time for that now. We have to hurry." Arianwen felt the sensation of floating before Sten's corded arms wrapped around her body.

"Don't go…" she pleaded. "Alistair…" No matter how she tried to turn her head, she could not. Her eyes met Sten's, the green depths of his orbs full of an alien emotion she'd never seen him display. Beside her, Alistair spoke once more.

"Arian, sweetheart…we will get you help. Do not close your eyes. Do you understand me?" She nodded. "Tell me you understand," he insisted.

"Yes…"

"Run, Sten. Run as fast as you can."

How did it come to this? – Arianwen wondered. As they passed soldiers and warriors on their way to the Marketplace courtyard, she saw no recognition on any of their faces. Men who had listened to her speak before the battle, who hung on her every word, who swore their lives to her, watched Sten run past them with her dying in his arms and showed no emotion. And why should they? She'd deceived them – lied to them all. A part of her had always hoped that the truth wouldn't matter – that only her deeds would prove who she was, not her blood.

Not yet. It cannot end like this...With that, Arianwen felt her eyes close, wondering if her life would flash before her eyes like so many tales described. If it did, she wondered if she would be ashamed, wondered where the memories would take her. Would she see the Wilds – her home? Would she remember her life in Highever? Or would her memories take her to where everything began – to the day her destiny, and Ferelden's, changed forever? As she lost all awareness, she thought she heard Flemmeth's whisper in her mind –

To find the end of destiny – to shape it – you must search for the beginning…

And so, Arianwen decided to search for the strings of fate that brought her here, knowing that unless she did so, she would never find the end she sought.