Prologue

You, who are tried in wars and battles, hold close to me now and you will feel no fear of death; keep beside me and your weakness will pass, the trembling will leave your hand…forget death and follow me

I waited in the cell, the stones cold against my skin after being exposed to the hot and humid air of the jungle around me. A bowl of water and some bread had been left on the floor for me and I ate it slowly, knowing my stomach could not handle so much so quickly.

I had been fasting for nearly three weeks, with only the occasional allotment of water. A kind guard had brought me tea one cold night. I appreciated the sentiment and I drank it quickly as I tried to keep warm.

But most nights it was far too hot. I would lay naked against the stone, sweating in the jungle heat. After months in the mountains of Ferelden, I had grown used to the cold and the heat of my homeland had made me greatly ill.

A guard came to my cell, bowing his head as he opened the door. I went with him willingly, as I always did. If I obeyed, Asala would be allowed to be strapped to my side. If not, I would feel soulless, knowing she had been stored away in a dank room until my reeducation was over.

I was brought out into the jungle again, out of the cells, and across the courtyard of the Viddathlok. The others stared, though many would turn their eyes away to if my glance met theirs. It was not often a hornless Qunari would be reeducated.

The children were outside, being taught by their Ben-Hassarath teachers of the merits of the Qun. One little elf girl looked up at me, and smiled briefly until her teacher called her attention back harshly.

I was brought into the chambers of the Ben-Hassarath. It was a secluded part of the compound, almost reaching the edge of the jungle. The priests would train the adults here, the new converts and the ones who had strayed.

The guard let me into the room I had spent days in, the room that I had nightmares of, the darkened place that smelt of blood and vomit and urine. Thankfully, very few of those fluids had belonged to me.

Chota walked into the room, dressed in the traditional garbs of the priestesses of Seheron, the leather breastplate and the flowing silk skirt dyed with the dark purple flowers that grew so prominently on the island.

She carried her tome, the book in which she wrote down our confessions, my weaknesses. Sometimes she took notes even though I had said nothing.

She made me kneel before her and she would stand above me, holding the tome in one hand and the pen in the other.

"You have been here for six weeks now, Sten," she said, "And yet you still have not even spoken more than a few words to me. Your reeducation is moving much slower than I would like. The Ariqun herself has asked about your progress. It is common knowledge now that you have come to us."

"Can you yet submit to the Qun?" Chota asked, raising an eyebrow at me, "Or have you decided to spend your days in that cell of yours?"

I did not know what to say, but merely bowed my head in respect.

"You know why you are here, Sten. You have been faithful, strong, but you have gone astray. You hold a loyalty above the Qun. You know the chaos this leads to. You must feel this already. There is only peace, only happiness in following the Qun."

"I…I have suffered," I said, closing my eyes.

"And you know the cause of that suffering, that agony," she said almost kindly, "Remember what it was before, what it meant to be a Sten in the Beresaad. Remember where your loyalty should lie. To the Qunari people."

"I know."

"Then why do you resist us still?"

"I…I do not mean to. But it is more difficult than I imagined it would be."

"Then you must work with me, Sten," Chota replied, flipping back in her tome, looking at the notes from the weeks beforehand, "Are you willing to talk now?"

"I will try."

"So tell me then about the Warden."