Chapter Guide (For those of you who want to skip sections):
Part One: Chapters 1-15 This section is when Leto is a small child, detailing how he is enslaved, primarily from the eyes of his mother.
Part Two: Chapters 16-20 This section details Leto growing up and learning how to fight.
Part Three: Chapters 21-44 This section is when Leto decides he has to win the Tourney to free his mother and sister, and about the Ritual.
Part Four: Chapters 45-65 This section is about Fenris' life as a slave to Danarius.
Part Five: Chapters 66-81 Fenris' travels before he gets to Kirkwall.
Part Six: Chapters 82-? In-game time.

Part One

Before the city, the golden sun was setting, its warm light casting a soft glow to the foggy land and reflecting off of the glass windows and mosaics in the city, but also creating long dark shadows in its wake—shapes that would twist into dragons and demons. It was at once beautiful and frightening, and in so many ways felt like the last day on earth.

"They'll be here by tomorrow," Calias said, looking out at the empty horizon, leaf-green eyes squinting against the sun.

Mieta's fingers wrapped around her husband's arm, seeking comfort as well as his full attention. "Do… Do you suppose we should have gone north with the others?" she asked apprehensively—a question she asked herself at least once a day lately, as the time drew nearer.

He looked back at her, and smiled so warmly that it even reflected in his eyes, as if nothing in the world were wrong. She found herself wanting to smile back on instinct. His smile had always tugged upon her soul like that. She hadn't loved him when they had been wed; he had seemed so austere. As it turned out, she had intimidated him into silence unwittingly. After she was pregnant with their firstborn, and she was sick, he became very attentive. One day, he had come back from a scouting mission, and she had presented him with their son; he had presented her with a bouquet of wildflowers he had picked during the mission, and her heart had softened to his thoughtfulness.

He put his hand against her slightly swollen belly, and kissed her gently on the mouth. "It would be dangerous to make that journey, my love," he told her, his voice a soft whisper. She felt like all the world was right when she looked into his leaf green eyes, like nothing in the world could ever come between them. Tomorrow, they would weather the day, and everything would be all right.

But that wasn't how it was, and defeat lurked inevitably in the air all around them like the fog, so thick you could almost pluck it from the air. They were outnumbered—badly. They were alone; the branch of the Antaam stationed closest to them, the one harrying the Tevinters in Seheron, was still weeks away and would never make it in time to save them (many said they had never intended to come), and there was nothing they could do. Infuriating, considering that the army could have moved to help them, but they had not. Weeks ago, they had been warned that they were coming, and some had fled in fear. At first, the others had laughed. Surely their city was too small to warrant their attention? Surely the Antaam would arrive before it was ever a problem?

But that had been weeks ago. Others had continued to flee as their impending demise came down upon them. Others had remained resolute: They were too stubborn, or had faith in their warriors. They didn't believe it could happen—does anyone believe their doom is coming before it is upon them? They would not abandon their post. They were invincible; and they were going to win. The Tevinters had been breaking their teeth against the walls of Schavalis for years now, and they had never fallen. They had always held fast, an outpost and haven for decades since it first fell. But the fist of the Antaam had never been so far away, called to where they were needed; one of their own ports was under siege and they had to break the siege. Of course they were more important than a mostly sovereign town.

Schavalis had an interesting history, reminiscent but not quite like the Free Cities. It was, once, part of the Tevinter Imperium but war left it ravaged and for some time all but abandoned by the Imperium. Years ago, it had been assaulted by the Qunari forces. The histories spoke that the siege lasted three days, and by the third, the city burned. The Tevinters escaped in their ships or horseback if they had to, but they had no room for their slaves and anyone they deemed too unimportant to be granted life, who were left behind at the mercy of the Qunari; it had been a liberation of sorts. That had happened little over a generation ago. Now, it bordered on the territory the Qunari controlled, but was overall considered a free city with its sympathies toward the Qunari; the Qunari did not have anyone to spare to maintain control over it at the time. There was some talk and dispute over officially joining the Qun, but the city officials never seemed to stop bickering about it and were reluctant to give up their "sovereignty".

In reality, it was a feigned sovereignty, but only a rare few actually knew and acknowledged that. They had convinced the Qunari, though it wasn't easy, to begin conversion slowly, though it was only beginning to take deeper root. The Qunari were rarely so patient, but even they had seen that forced conversion wasn't working every time and there were those in their own people who suggested a different way might be better. Their leaders had accepted this, as they had seen in the past for themselves how peoples of other cultures and races would go to them, given time, of their own free will; Schavalis was a trial of sorts. It also helped that forced conversion generally roused the attention of the Chantry—and that only led to more war. The Chantry, for the larger part, was content to ignore the Qunari if all they did was attack Tevinter, but Schavalis was different since it declared sovereignty.

People had begun to notice, to accept. In a few more years, it might just simply become natural. One of the biggest arguments was that the language would be difficult to pick up and learn, more because many Qunari do not speak the common tongue than anything else, so it would be required that everyone learn their language, so they might speak the Qun as it was meant to be spoken. There were a few Andrastians in Schavalis who were starkly in opposition to this, but Schavalis' former allegiance to the Imperium had left its Chantry a ghost of what it meant in other countries.

Mieta stared at Calias, wanting so desperately to believe him, but all she could think of was the death that marched on the horizon. They would be in sight by morning, a dark death brought by the dawn. And, with the flat of the land, they would see them march all day, slowly. The waiting alone would drive her mad, she felt. It was rumoured that they would attack at dawn the day after tomorrow, when the light was in the defender's eyes.

"You didn't answer me," she insisted, taking his callused hand in hers. It was strong, usually, from work, from a sword. Today, it felt that her terror overpowered his calm and his strength.

But even so, his calm did not yield. "The walls have never fallen, not since they were built," he told her, still evading her. She looked at him, her eyebrows raising in disbelief. He thought they were going to die. At best, that would be true. At worst… it didn't bear thinking of.

She looked back, at the town below them. She looked back at him, her eyes watering in terror. They could run. Her husband couldn't; he would be considered a deserter, but no one would stop the helpless refugees. It had become so bad that they had drafted anyone who could hold a sword or bow into the militia, and those ones would likely balk once the gates fell.

He must have guessed her thoughts from her expression, for he said, "My dear, if you ran, you would be alone in the wilderness."

She swallowed hard. But if she ran, she might preserve her life, and their child's. Her hand touched her belly. Her throat still felt dry. "So I should be alone in our house, listening to the gates breaking and the sound of men dying?" she asked him.

He didn't know what to say, so he pulled her close against him in his arms. It wasn't private. There were others on the wall too, but they gave the two some semblance of privacy by looking away.

She could say nothing more, so did not. She kissed him, and headed down the stairs. The walls seemed strong. Impenetrable even. Tall, thick, something she had seen all her life. It had been a constant throughout her life, something solid she felt she could rely on. Would that be gone too?

She continued on. Everyone else seemed to feel what she had felt. It was so quiet. Shops closed early, and people kept their children close and shut inside. Everything was so eerily hushed, she reflected as she looked around the street.

There should be people here—a few scattered Qunari on occasion (mostly those on scouting missions stopped to resupply or even Tal-Vashoth when they dared), elves, humans, a couple of surface dwarves too. They should be selling their wares, laughing, telling stories. They should be living their lives. This shouldn't have to be. Nothing like this should have to be.

The Qun taught that if death was visited upon someone, that that is their fate. Was it their fate to die? She didn't want to die. Didn't want anyone here to die. Why couldn't they just leave them alone? They were a peaceful farming village. They supplied the Qunari with food, occasionally warriors, mages when they cropped up, but they had never, never actively fought. She couldn't understand what would drive a person to want to slaughter innocents. She couldn't imagine a world where those people could be allowed to exist.

They denied everything of the Qun, and the Maker. Why? Mieta couldn't understand it. Growing up here, she had been taught both ways, and allowed to come to her own decisions. There was never harm in knowledge, after all. She still wasn't sure what she believed, and wasn't sure it even mattered any longer.

She stopped walking, not suddenly but more as if she had forgotten to continue her path.

A shutter in the distance banged shut, and it echoed—echoed!—in the lonely streets. The sun was just beginning to spill its fires across the distant sky, and it was already so…

Abandoned, she thought.

She looked around herself, as if seeing this place for the first time. In her mind's eye, she saw the buildings ablaze, their smoke blocking out the light of the morning's sun. The river would run red with blood, and bodies. It would be a city of decay, and death. Crows and ravens would flock to feast upon the carrion, where the bodies would simply be left to rot in the elements as a warning to all…

Calias had always said she was over-imaginative, but the thought only caused a deep pang in her gut. What if she was right?

She could not bear to think of it, yet the thoughts still came, and she wished they would stop. She could not think like that; believing in something could make it true—her Ma had always said that, both as a hopeful wish for her to carry, and as a warning.

The cawing of a crow startled her enough to jump. She looked up at the dark bird, perched on someone's roof. It watched her curiously from its perch, clacking in a way that sounded to her like chortling at her misfortune. If she had wings, she could just fly away, after all. More to her folly; she did not. The bird twisted its head to one side, its black shiny eyes staring down at her. She felt like it was waiting. She had heard that the birds went for the eyes first.

Where are the gulls? The noisy seabirds were always about, even in the evening, looking for scraps. She didn't even see the pigeons, and that bothered her more than anything else. She looked back up at the crow. The birds know more than we do. Or they just have more sense.

She hesitated at the street she should take to get home, but instead turned down another passage.

The twist of the road led her through the town, and she was conscious that she was heading downhill slowly. The town sat on two large hills, with a wall surrounding it, and even the harbor was cut off by the wall. In the past, it had been more to ward out predators, but with the war going on, the fortification had been added to, again and again until they became the high, strong walls they were now.

They can't be breached, she tried to remind herself. The walls were thicker than she was tall, and filled with sand. The doors were bound in iron. Atop the walls were archers of skill, and boiling oil and tar. They had held fast in times past, against pirates, against raiders, and armies. They should hold fast now.

But they had no mages. No, the Qun dictated, and they gave them away. Oh, there might be one apostate—perhaps two at most—hiding in the town, but she doubted it. More than that, whoever they were would not dare to reveal their existence unless it was already too late, and it would be nothing but an act of desperation. They would have waited too long to help—too little, too late.

She stopped at the market square, looking up at the statue. It was a work of smooth granite by a craftsman of great skill, one that had been a slave years ago, then a freed man, and had died that way long ago. The warrior was clothed in magnificent armor, poised, dignified. His face was hidden by his great helm, and the armor and the helm kept all from guessing anything more about him. The artist may have intended him human, or elven, or even dwarven; it was taller than a Qunari.

The Warrior faced south, in stark opposition to the unknown forces that would seek to suppress him, and the positioning was no coincidence. He watched the south, ever vigilante, never yielding. He was a figure of strength amidst the weakness all around that she felt all too clearly in the air. He was a figure of light amidst this darkness. And, she felt, life though he possessed none. Sometimes, a thing didn't need to have something to make that thing real to someone else.

Seeing the Warrior gave her a sense of resolve, a determination. She bowed her head for a moment, whispering a silent prayer to the Maker for deliverance. But even as she said the words, she knew they fell to deaf ears. The Maker had abandoned all of them years ago, even the Chant of Light dictated that bit. He had never heard her prayers before, or anyone's, she imagined.

Why would he start listening now?

Perhaps the Qunari were right; if it was meant to be, it would happen. Such is the way of the Qun. It was an almost comforting thought, but not one she liked.

Her path led her down into the valley. Superstition and a sense of propriety kept it away, but it had become vast and sprawling out of necessity.

She went past the creaking gate, lost in her thoughts of divinity. She passed among the headstones, some so old they were crumbling, others growing lichen. There were a few larger monuments rising out of the mists, but most small headstones. She saw flowers on a few of the graves, and seashells on others. She saw crumbling tokens that had meant something in life to the deceased, that meant nothing now to her. They were forgotten, and lost, except by their families and those that loved them. And even so, they didn't care; they were dead and cremated.

She found the small bend her family lay. She knelt before her parents' grave, not knowing any words she could give them, nor what she could ask. Looking at their graves, she felt a sense of sadness in her heart.

"I envy you, Mother," she said gently. The wind rustled the dried grass, lifting her dark hair. She tucked a lock of it behind one pointed ear, twisting it in her fingers like she had when she was a young girl. She swallowed, thinking of the encroaching army. "You never doubted if your children would know where you lay to rest."

She touched her pregnant belly, trying to swallow past the dryness she felt in her throat. There was so much wrong with this world, and it would not be content to leave them alone.

Mieta clasped her hands, and resolved to pray. Whether anyone heard her or not, she felt better for having done it.

When she finished, she made her way back up the hill, down the streets, until she came to her street.

She had left Leto at the neighbor's for her visit, and they had a daughter born not two weeks after he, and, being neighbors, had grown up friends. She hoped that they had locked them in the house instead of letting them in the garden, though she had little hope for that.

She went up to the house with the faded red door. There was a stain on it that to her looked rather like a ram's head. She rapped gently on the door, and only a touch louder after a moment and there was no answer.

She heard Sharall before the woman came to the door, apologizing all the way. The door opened with a modest squeak of complaint. She made a face at the sound.

"Inrir! You said you fixed this door!" she complained, calling back over her shoulder at her husband somewhere inside the house.

"Fool woman—of course I did. The door just knows more than you do," he called back through the house.

Like the birds. But Mieta forced a warm smile on her lips, though she feared that it did not touch her soft hazel eyes. Sharall rolled her eyes at her husband, but stepped aside to let Mieta inside. She wiped her feet gingerly on the matt. Sharall closed the door behind her, and locked it, she noticed.

"Would you like tea?" she asked, wringing her hands nervously.

Everyone was nervous. Tea would do her some good. "Please," she said. She followed Sharall into the kitchen area, where she already had a kettle of water on the stove. Mieta had a seat as her hostess prepared the tea. The kettle was whistling before she was finished, and she poured three cups. One, she explained, for her husband if he ever decided to be respectful to their guest and say hello.

"How has my son been?" Mieta asked conversationally. She held her cup in her hands, grateful of its warmth and the pleasant aroma of the steam on her face, even though the tea needed more time to steep before it was worth drinking.

Sharall laughed gently. "He's darling," she replied. "I love having him, and Lura is just smitten with him—you should see them."

Mieta found herself smiling in spite of herself. The muscles felt good to use. "And he's as oblivious as ever, I assume?"

The other elf took a tentative sip of her tea. "As ever," she agreed. Both sets of parents had been discussing having their children wed when they came of age. Arranged marriages were much less complicated than leaving it up to their children to decide, after all, and the Qun taught that it was much more efficient besides. Well, the Qun didn't actually condone marriage as a concept, but the Qunari did agree that if they had to have marriage, it shouldn't be up to the children. Though, they had also agreed not to tell either of them for a few more years yet, for both their sakes. Let them enjoy each other's company before they learn that they must tolerate it the rest of their lives.

If they lived long enough to be wed.