Fandoms: InuYasha/Dragon Age series
Pairing: Kagome/Fenris
Prompt: "...and you honored in blood rite."

The Memories of the Lyrium Girl

I.

The Void encompassed her. Neither life or death, past or future, love or hate. It was comforting and disconcerting. It was the world of in-between; it was everything and nothing, never able to be either. It was a place of dreams, as changing and fickle as the unconscious mind, and just as determined to make one face their deepest fears. And no living thing should have stepped foot in it, in their mortal flesh.

For Kagome, it was a dark place. It had no form, no name to call itself. For that was her greatest fear: to not be. But she faced it, and stared down Magatsuhi without hesitation once she found her courage.

But her courage ripped holes in the nightmare Void.

In Inuyasha's desperation to reach her—to save her, not knowing she could save herself—he tore apart the Void. He reached out a hand from where he peaked in, his world shining brightly behind him. But it was not enough. Her fingers grazed his as she lost her footing to his method of saving her. They held eye contact for only a few seconds; his were drowning in guilt and contrition, hers with forgiveness and love.

And then the Void disappeared.

When Kagome woke up, she found herself in a world of gray. The color had bled out of the place, and like the Void, it was not warm or algid. But unlike the Void, she could feel. Life hummed just out of her reach, and death, too.

She pushed herself off the ground and took in her surroundings. She felt like she was at the midst of a nexus; only mirrors surrounded her. Full-length mirrors with stairs leading to them. And she had been around the supernatural long enough to know that meant they led somewhere.

How long she wandered among the mirrors, trying to find one that would allow her passage, she couldn't say. Time was meaningless, it held no sway in places such as this, where magic ruled first. But one glowed at her touch. The surface rippled when she pressed her hand against it.

Normally she would not be so careless, but this seemed to be the only way she could leave this dispirited world. With a shrug of her shoulders, she pushed her way through it.

And straight into a world she hadn't seen before. The mirror shattered behind her, and the other people in the room jumped away from her as if she would devour them all. Then she watched as they cowered as the only door slammed open seconds later.

A man entered, dressed in expensive robes the like of which she had not seen in either the Sengoku Jidai or her era. His face was pinched in anger and he looked at every other person as if one would confess to a crime, be it real or false. He barked out a question in what she knew to be English, but she could only make out certain words of it. She never really paid attention in that class, especially once her quest started because she had no use for the language in the era she spent most of her time in. Now, she wished she had tried harder.

But she understood gestures. All of the cowering people pointed toward her, and she didn't have to be a genius to guess that he had asked something about what happened. But the way he looked at her…

From her to the broken mirror behind her, he took his time in assessing the situation. If anything, to her, he seemed to be…appraising. "Greetings, traveler. Where have you come from?" he asked another question, but she didn't understand. When she shook her head and said that to him, he gave her such a confused look. She wondered if he had never heard Japanese before.

He waved away all the other people, and they scurried out of the room as if their lives depended on it. Somehow, Kagome had a feeling it did. He walked closer to her, easily stepping over the giant shards of the mirror. It crossed her mind that she would have to find a different way back, if she wished to find a way home.

He pointed to himself, saying, "Danarius."

Now this she could understand. With a smile, she touched her nose and said, "Kagome." When he gestured for her to come closer, she did so with no hesitation. Had she known what would come in the following years, she would have continued on passed the mirror.

II.

At seven, Leto did not understand the fuss over the newest woman in the household of his master. She spoke no language known to them, could not cook or clean or fight, and he did not find her as pretty as his mom or sister. She was also kind of dumb to him, as she couldn't even grasp the language. Even he could speak plainly. But she struggled and tripped over words and sounds.

At ten, Leto knew she was a prisoner more so than all the slaves in Tevinter. It was not that she couldn't cook or clean, but that she wasn't allowed to. He had watched her try to slice an apple for one of the younger slaves, only to have Danarius appear and break one of her fingers. "For insubordination," he had said. Yet he watched her continue to do small things like that whenever she had the chance to, despite the pain inflicted upon her either by Danarius or one of his loyal followers.

And it wasn't that she was too stupid to learn the language, but again, because she was not allowed to learn it. And no one tried, not after she had picked up enough for simple sentences from conversations the slaves would have around her. Danarius had two of the kitchen staff flogged until their backs were raw, then he used their own blood to fuel his spell that removed their tongues. He never saw her speak again where he could hear.

During the summer of his tenth year, he found out why.

All the slaves cleaned the mansion until it shined. Nothing less than the finest imported silks were hung from the rafters and over the windows. Flowers were brought in and placed everywhere. And that afternoon, Leto watched Danarius marry the foreign girl unable to fully understand the language. They said words that went over her head. And when he took her hand, as if to lead her away, he pulled a dagger instead and sliced her finger, sealing the contract she couldn't read with her blood. Even though he couldn't read either, he knew what was going on.

And by the horror on her face, she realized it too late to do anything about it.

They had a feast the likes of which they only prepared when the Magisterium would visit. Of which, by no coincidence Leto was sure, all were present for.

And after dinner, he and everyone watched as Danarius led his new wife outside. He drew the symbols and markings in the dirt, and every slave stiffened. A blood magic ritual. All of them at one point had given blood in exchange for his power and nearly died for it. Two of his hired guard dragged a man in from the cells underneath the mansion. Likely a spy or an assassin too stupid to be effectual. It would not be the first time for either.

"Now, a demonstration of the power I now wield," Danarius said.

The guards placed the man before his wife. And Leto watched as Danarius took the same dagger he used earlier and grabbed her. The look in her eyes and the way she finally started to struggle told him that whatever was going to happen was not the first time it had. Everyone always reacted the same when they feared something stronger than them.

Then Danarius plunged the dagger into her stomach and dragged it across. Leto watched as her life spilled out, far too much for anyone to live. He released his wife and let her fall to the ground as if he had not just married her hours earlier.

What followed next was what he expected. Magic was raised from the bloody symbols and warped to utterly destroy the man sitting in them. Flesh and bone and sinew was ripped clean. No one looked away. No one wanted weakness to be shown, because it would likely be them dead for the next ritual.

"The same old parlor trick, but a good show nonetheless," one of the other magisters muttered.

But Danarius only smirked.

Because his dead wife gasped for breathe and sat up. Blood stained her wedding gown and flesh, but the wound was gone. Instead of helping her to her feet, Danarius gestured down to her. "I used none of my own magic. It was all hers. She is an inexhaustible source of power. Better than lyrium, without the addiction. Never aging, never dying. And now, never able to leave my side."

Murmurs broke out among the Magisters as they considered this development. While the other slaves breathed a sigh of relief, they wouldn't be needed for blood anymore. But Leto thought that made them no better than their master, they just took pleasure in another's slavery for limited freedom.

"Come, pet," Danarius said, gesturing toward him. He knew better than to show insubordination at the moment. While Leto may hate his situation, he was not eager to die, be tortured, or be given to one of the Magisters for a night. Or to have it happen to his mother or sister, not again.

So he stepped forward and waited for instruction. This was his life as a slave: pet to Danarius, secret member of his personal guard, and occasional bed warmer. Even still, his life was now better than hers.

"Get her cleaned, shut away in her rooms. Her safety is now your responsibility. Do well, pet, and you'll be rewarded." Danarius smiled, though it turned to more of a leer as Leto pulled the woman to her feet and dragged her away from the eyes of everyone in the courtyard.

Once they were inside, she began to struggle. It was half-hearted and weak, especially to his young and slightly-trained self. He grabbed her arm roughly when she managed to wiggle free and slammed her against the wall. He barely had to glance up at her, with her height and weakened posture. "Stop."

She shook her head. "No."

"You escape now and all of us will suffer for it," he said, not unkindly. He watched as she thought over his words, likely the meaning of them, and sighed. "Danger."

He didn't think it was possible, but her shoulders drooped even more, the fight leaving. "I know," she said, deliberately, quietly. He barely had to forced her to her room after that. And thus began his vigil, his job, for the next five years.

III.

Over five years, they created a ritual. He was her ever-vigilant, ever-unnoticed protector save when Danarius needed his body for one of two reasons, always there in the aftermath of her torture. He was the one to carry her back to her room after she would give her life for one of Danarius' rituals or power grabs, and he was the one to watch her gather her dignity on the worse nights his master would spend with her.

He would never tend to her wounds, but always made sure there was a clean bath and a cold towel for her to press against her bruises. And as she revived herself, he would sit just outside the folding screens she would hide behind and tell her stories.

He would always start with, "Have you heard of…" and she would always reply, "No," even if he had told her of it before.

"…When I was young, and we lived in Seheron, there was always this fog around the town. Whenever the fog rolled in, you never knew what was going to happen. Often, people died in it. They said that long ago, Nahar cursed the town…"

"…Seheron is the home of Griffons. The beasts that Grey Wardens used to ride into battle to save the world were born only in Seheron. They were once lions, but the fog was too great a threat, and they grew wings in order to escape it…"

By then, she would have come out and sat down next to him. They never touched, never looked at each other, but were acutely aware of the other's presence. And that was enough for them. He did not know what she thought about anything, least of all him, and he could not afford to think of her. There were already two people he had to think about and protect, he did not need to add another to it.

But he knew it was already too late. She called him, "Leto-chan," with such affection in private, and he knew her name to be Kagome. Only Danarius and he knew that about her. And he cherished those two things far too much for it to not be a weakness.

Yet, this time, he did not go into a story. He sat there quietly, even after she joined him.

"Danarius is holding a tournament among his slaves in the morning," he said.

"Yes," he heard her say. It was quiet, as if she knew something he didn't. "Reward is…freedom."

"My mother and sister deserve it," he said after a moment of silence. First and foremost, he had to think about them. The woman who gave him life and the sister who tried so hard to protect him.

"Leto-chan, no." She paused and he could almost hear her frustration with the language. He had done his best to help her, but he was no teacher. Not of words and language, at least. "Not what think. Death."

"I can beat out any who would try." He stood, crossing over to the door to begin his nightly guard. "So this is goodbye, one way or another, Kagome."

He walked out, closing the door as he heard her stand. And then locked it. He couldn't bear to look at her or hear what she might try to say in return. This was a decision he had made the second Danarius had announced this little game for the entertainment of himself and other Magisters.

And, true to his word, Leto fought and killed his way through other slaves until he emerged victorious. Danarius' smile as if he hoped he would win, the tearful smiles of his mother and sister, they paled in comparison to the pale and horrified face of Kagome.

And he remembered the way she had tried to say it wasn't what he thought the night before as he was led into Danarius' ritual chamber to see that horrified look still upon her face.

Then, it all vanished.

IV.

Fenris had spent at least ten years on the run from Danarius. There were some things that magic could not take away, could not make vanish, and he ran away on the island of Seheron. Time was hard to keep track of, days and months even harder for a slave who couldn't read or tell time. They bred sedition, and so Danarius never taught them. But years had to have passed.

Then he had met Hawke. And he finally stayed in one place long enough to have a need to tell time. Seven years passed. And he was still free.

With Hawke and his other companions by his side in The Hanged Man, he ended his lifelong torment, finally finding the strength to resist the magic compulsion burned into his skin. The relief he felt at killing Danarius was not as great as he thought it was going to be. The relief at remembering he had a sister was not that great. Even her betrayal of him did not cut as deeply as he thought it was going to.

Those feelings came toward himself later, when he spoke with his sister away from Hawke and his other…friends, he could call them that now with no fear of the danger they may face. His greatest enemy, and the greatest threat to their lives was dead now. But the memories…

He knew why he trusted Hawke even though she was a mage now. Because he had seen and trusted and loved eyes just as blue and burning with resolve too fondly to ever distrust them on someone else. And he had abandoned her so cruelly.

His sister spoke to him of the full truth of what happened when he was sixteen and stupid and took upon the false chance at freedom for them.

Danarius knew of the attachment between his wife and his pet. It was not a physical affair, but an affair of the heart. And he knew just how he wanted it to end, and a way to cement his power and standing among the Magisters in such a way that no one would ever think to stand against his ambition. A tourney, a chance at freedom; two things he would not be able to pass up.

She had known, she had tried to warn him. "Not what think," was all she knew how to say after so many years of isolation. She did not know their words for betrayal or trap, only simple, harmless words. There was never a chance for any of Danarius' slaves to be free; that would be a loss in power for him.

They led a willing Leto into the ritual chamber where she had been dragged into. With three cases of lyrium on hand, a floor full of runes, and then her blood and body powering the ritual. They ripped the flesh from his body, carving twisting runes of power and poured lyrium into the open wounds. And while he lingered half-asleep, half-dead in the Fade, they stole away his mind.

They took his mother, his sister, his love, his rebellion.

But they could not take those things from her. Her will flowed through her blood, her power, and she did what little she could to keep him her Leto. It was not enough, and just enough.

He remembered. "Kagome," he would whisper her name in the middle of the night, around the lips of a bottle as he fought with his guilt. As he vowed to never forget again.

And he didn't, even as Kirkwall burned. Mages, Templars, abominations, guardsmen's bodies littered the streets that ran red with blood. And on the docks, their little band stood on the edge of change. All because of the stupid actions of one apostate.

Aveline was the only one who did not follow them out of Kirkwall. Soon even Fenris parted ways with Hawke, when they traveled into Orlais and close to the Nevarran border. He had been away for too long, and there was one last thing he had to do.

So he said his goodbyes to Hawke and Varric and went on his own into Tevinter, toward Minrathous. With Danarius dead, there was a widow's fate he needed to look into.

V.

In the year since he left Kirkwall, Thedas fell to shit. Mages and Templars in open warfare wherever and whenever he ventured back south on some rumor of her whereabouts. And that was on top of the slavers and mercenaries that rivals of Danarius would send after him, thinking they would be successful where he failed. He showed them the error of their thinking with little trouble.

Yet, he still followed rumors. From Minrathous to Vyrantium, then Hasmal in the Free Marches. Cumberland to Neromenian. And finally to Seheron. His sister told him once that was their home, before Danarius, but he couldn't remember. All he remembered was the pain of the ritual, the anguish in Kagome's eyes, some feelings of love for his family, his name, and her name.

He wandered the streets for weeks, looking for any sign that she had been there, hiding away every time the fog rolled in so as to not run into any Fog Warriors. They would want his blood if they knew, and guilt would stop him from killing them after what he did under Danarius' command. If this kept up by the time he left Seheron, then he may just swallow his pride and ask Varric if he could look into the matter.

Then, one morning as he came from the baker with food, he walked right into a person. He barely stumbled, but they fell to the ground. He sneered down at them. "Keep your eyes off your feet, or you'll soon find them gone."

The person stayed on the ground, not bothering to look up. Their hood had fallen down, making it rather obvious that they were trying to hide from someone or something. Either could be true in the lawless streets of Seheron. And Fenris found himself taking a closer look.

The slight build, the mess of dark hair long enough to obscure their face; he would be surprised if they were not female. They were dirty and seemed too thin; he wondered if they were a runaway slave. With a disgusted and tired sigh, he grabbed their—her?—arm and pulled her up. "Are you stupid?"

She gasped and looked at him with eyes he remembered. Or he thought he did. He couldn't remember the exact shade, aside from they were blue. But he could not mistake the recognition and surprise that were in them. "Leto-chan," she whispered.

He breathed out her name in return, pulling her in close for a tight embrace. "Forgive me."

She shook her head even as she embraced him back, as if she had been waiting a lifetime to do such a thing. Perhaps she had, as they never touched in such a way even when he was young and stupid and so damn naïve. "Forgive me. I should have fought harder."

Her words were spoken slowly, with an accent he couldn't place that still had her stumbling over certain sounds. "You've learned."

"It is been a long two years." Her hands were stroking his hair now, and he could hear her smile into his shoulder. "But I thank you for them."

"Good, because I'm not sorry."

She pulled away first, her hands resting on his cheeks as she looked him over. She smiled, small and sad, and brushed her thumbs along the mark on his chin. The magic flowing in them and through him seemed to sing at the brush of her thumbs and the magic she was filled with, and he felt lighter for the first time he could remember. "No. I am sorry."

He barked out a laugh, grabbing her hands in one of his and leading her away. They were starting to attract attention, and that was something no one wanted to do in Seheron. "Why here?" he asked when they arrived on the street of the inn he was staying in.

"You always spoke of here, of stories you learned when young. I wanted to see what you remember so well."

He did not answer her until they were in his room. Even then, he stayed silent. How could he tell her? His time with Hawke made him soft, as he worried about being his normal self to her. She didn't know that person, he was still Leto to her. He wanted to be Leto again.

"I have no memories of Seheron, Kagome," he said. It was not how he wanted to say it, but there it was.

Yet she smiled and sat down on his bed. "Once you say to me… There always fog in Seheron. And none knew what would happen in fog. Though people often died in it because of warriors who use to advantage…"

He sat down on the floor next to her feet, listening to her retelling of a tale he couldn't remember telling her about. He knew the story of it though; it was a common children's tale about the curse of Nahar. And he couldn't remember being enough of a child to tell it to anyone. But she remembered for him. And to him, that was enough. If only she remembered a boy named Leto, then he could endure being Fenris as he showed her the world that boy had spun stories about.

As stated in the summery, all chapters are complete oneshots. They are unlikely to be continued or made into longer stories, and all will be video game crossovers. I might continue a couple of them, or connect them to others, and that will be stated at the beginning of the one continuing the story. Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy these little short stories!