Fact: I have too many story ideas right now. I have now become that crazy person writing three stories at once, when I barely have time to write one.

Now that my rant is over, welcome to my Dragon Age 2 story. Since this storyline has a lot to do with Fenris, it is naturally a little darker than my style has tended to be in the past - you have been warned. I have been going through a bit of a rough patch in my life and writing thirty pages of video game extravaganza was the perfect escape. Please enjoy!

Prologue: Runners

Hunters. Here, in Kirkwall. Even in this massive city-state, he still could not lose these lethal followers who wished to return him to Danarius, dead or alive. Generally, they came in smaller groups that he was able to eliminate on his own during the past few years, but this was different. Aside from the group of four he was presently stalking in the moonlight, he knew there to be a much larger crew elsewhere in the city. He had a nagging suspicion that it was because they were guarding someone, not just hunting.

Danarius.

Either that, or his former master was simply getting more desperate. Unlikely. Only the night before had he been forced to fight for his life, being chased by…he had lost count of the number of soldiers he had eluded or killed. Had the magister finally come himself to claim the prize?

Checking to make sure they weren't too many civilian casualties around – only one unlucky Dwarf – the elf leapt from the rooftop and instantly dispatched the lowest ranking man. Danarius' men were foolish to travel in such small groups. Two more went down easily enough; however, the last one had time for the initial surprise to wear off and put up more of a fight…more meaning an entire six seconds.

The man was on his knees now, unarmed.

"How many more of you are coming?" the fugitive demanded.

The defeated one spat at the victor's foot.

"You can't run forever, slave," he sneered defiantly. "You might as well give up now."

"I have heard that before. Hasn't stopped me yet."

"Soon enough, Danarius'll have at least one of his pets back."

Fenris' blade backed off an inch as his curiosity got the better of him.

"Speak quickly and clearly, or I will make you wish you were never born."

"Freyja. Danarius has plans once he gets her back."

"Danarius always has plans." He cocked his head. "I thought Freyja was still in his service."

"You don't know much, do you, elf?"

That remark was instantly met with bone-crushing blow to the jaw.

"Where is she?"

The soldier spoke quickly.

"Danarius doesn't know for certain, but we've heard rumors that indicate she might be dwelling at the foot of Sundermount on the Northwestern side. But none of our patrols have returned. It's unknown whether they were lost or killed by Freyja or wild animals. We're all afraid to go up there. She wasn't… She's not like she was. Before she left, she…changed. Even I saw it. Danarius…"

Fenris scowled and swiftly beheaded his foe.

"Not clear enough." Movement caught his attention. That small revelation would have to wait. He had Hunters to worry about. "You, Dwarf, what is your name?"

The Dwarf straightened a little from cowering, still eyeing the dead bodies of the Hunters. He could be useful. Fenris' lyrium markings stopped glowing as he relaxed a bit.

"A…Anso. My name is Anso."

"And what is your purpose here, Anso?"

"I…I came with my mother and brother to start a new life. My mother wanted me to take a job sweeping stables but –"

"Loot whatever coin you wish from these corpses, Anso, and then I have a job for you."

"Thank you, but…who are you? Why were these men after you?"

"That is none of your concern," Fenris growled, wiping his blade on the officer's pant leg. He would need help again – a distraction maybe. First, he needed someone to see what was in that hovel he had seen soldiers going in and out of for the past day or two – he had heard something about a chest. Then, attack. Hopefully he had enough coin left to win Anso's temporary loyalty. These men offered no signs of whether Danarius was there or of their number, so he was walking blindly.

They were back. They couldn't be back; she had just killed the last batch. They shouldn't have tracked her this quickly, unless…

Unless he was tracking her himself now. Perhaps it was the lyrium that he could sense. Was he that desperate, at last? She wasn't sure what had possessed her to think that she would ever be free of her master's influence. Her desire for self-preservation had taken her this far, but she wasn't sure how much farther it would take her. She had been on the run for…had it really been a year? Or only a few months?

She had returned from her last scouting venture, having heard news of a few more Tevinter Hunters collecting in Kirkwall to go on a 'hunting' trip. Only a few weeks prior, before she had come to the foot of this mountain, she had met with yet two more troupes of soldiers. But why so many in Kirkwall? The only conclusion: Danarius had finally come. The number of the Hunters had been mysteriously dwindling, though, since her initial run-in, to which she did not object in the least…but it was still strange. Had Danarius moved on already? Why?

With a quiet, despairing sigh, Freyja sat back from her fire pit in the middle of the dilapidated shack and made herself comfortable against the cold wall in her bed of pine needles. She was tired of running. Her rich flaxen hair was a mess of knots and dirt when, for the past seventeen years, it had always been perfectly cleaned and groomed. For once, she missed the exotic, intricate braids that had taken at least an hour a day to produce. Her eyes, once lined with charcoal to bring out their depth, now looked hollow and showed the pain she had always felt (when she wasn't trying to hide it). Before, when she looked in a mirror, she was able to at least pretend that she was a mysterious, beautiful, untouchable creature; but there was nothing to hide the truth, now.

She hardened her heart more than ever to keep out her desire for safety, companionship, and warmth; but what she saw now in her reflection was a bitter, detached thirty-three year old rogue woman. She had known freedom, but this was different. She was on her own in a world far bigger than she had ever imagined. This world was cold and lonely, just like she had trained herself to be over the years. She had always wanted to be alone, but this…running for so long with no hope of sanctuary or release…it was beginning to wear on her. Her life merely consisted of hating, running, and killing. After her only friend had abandoned her three years ago, she was beginning to forget what it was like to trust anyone.

She was able to get a few hours of sleep, but it was soon time to set up her ambush for the Hunters; if they came from Kirkwall, they would be arriving soon. How much longer? Was it worth it?

Freyja stepped outside the cabin a few hours after dawn and went to a large puddle to splash the sleep out of her eyes, which resulted in a five-minute rinse of all exposed flesh when the grime started running into her eyes. She quickly swept her hair back and began securing her weapons. She left the fire still brewing. Let them come.

She watched the thick of the forest from her refuge carefully and waited for her calculations to be rewarded. Sure enough, a high-pitched yelp in the distance alerted her to the Hunters' presence as they hit one of her traps…right on the path she had set for them.

In a flurry of movement, Freyja lit her prepared arrow, burst into the cabin clearing, and waited again. They would be in the trap in just…a few more…steps.

She shot her arrow, just as she had practiced hours earlier and burst forward, daggers in hand. The tar and dried grass she had set instantly blazed, sending the Hunters into a panic. They should have noticed the cut back trees and foliage upon entering that clearing, but the Hunters that had been dispatched before never lived to learn from their mistakes and pass on the warning: Freyja was not just a runaway slave; she was a trained assassin. The gifts given to her by Danarius were now the weapons she used against him.

The rogue took no time to pause upon bolting into the chaos. While the Hunters were still trying to extract themselves from the burning tar, she put enough force into her initial attacked to nearly decapitate the first two. As the fire died, a few of the more intact ones barreled after her; they successfully nicked her leg, but were then gutted. Two more were nursing bad burns and weren't able to reach their weapons in time when she turned on them. The last squealing victim was merely a mercy killing.

After quickly ensuring that the fire was burnt out, Freyja wordlessly turned away from the carnage and walked to a nearby pond to wash away the gore. But a few moments later, she heard her last trap release in the distance.