Denerim, Ferelden, 11th of Cloudreach, 9:14 Dragon

Daliath awoke beneath a parked cart, to a cold city. As he adjusted his eyes to the morning light he remembered, today was his eighth birthday. He crawled out from beneath the cart, into the cold air. He felt his stomach rumbling, he was hungry. He'd survived on the road to Denerim by strafing a trade caravan and filching food at night. He hadn't eaten since he got to the capital of Ferelden however, and that was almost five days ago. The cart was parked behind a small bakery, and the smell of freshly-baked bread was escaping from the chimney. He went up to the front, where the baker was kneading dough on a small oaken table near the door. His wife was loading finished loaves into a crate, which she would no doubt take to the market in order to sell. Daliath walked up the baker's wife, and asked:
"May I have one of those loaves? I am hungry, I haven't eaten for five days"
"Go back to the alienage, you little knife-ear! Before I call the guards!"
She spat on the ground in front of him, then turned and entered the bakery to fetch more bread. The baker, who'd heard what his wife said, abandoned his dough and grabbed one of the loaves from the crate. He knelt and gave it to Daliath.
"Take this now, lad, and hurry off. Come back tomorrow if you'd like, and I'll give you another one," he patted the young elf softly on the head.
Daliath thanked him and ran off before the baker's wife returned.

The next day he returned to the kindly baker, only to find him talking to a trio of guards.
"I didn't see any elf. I don't know what my wife told you, gentlemen, but I'm sure she just counted the loaves wrong, there was no theft, I assure you"
The baker's wife, who'd been standing in the doorway, rushed out.
"No! There was!" then she caught sight of Daliath, "There! There's the thief!" she pointed at him with a long, bony finger. The guards turned their heads, to see Daliath's back as he was running away. They rushed after him. He managed to get halfway to the city gates before tripping on a rock, and then the guards were on him. One of them pulled him up by the neck of his shirt, and held him for the other two to inspect.
"Here's a little thief," said the man who held him.
"Managed to get out of the alienage, I bet" said another guard.
"You sure? He's got marking's on his face, the alienage ones don't have those" said the third guard. Daliath remained quiet.
"An elf's an elf. Let's just throw him back into the alienage. I can't be bothered with the paperwork"
They literally threw him into the alienage; he landed with a splash in a pool of rainwater. He wandered aimlessly for quite some time. Dusk came upon him swiftly, and with it the cold. He sat down, shivering, outside the alienage's excuse for a tavern. A middle-aged elf with chestnut-colored hair, wearing grey mage's robes with twin griffons emblazoned on his chest, walked up to him.
"Are you cold, my child?"
Daliath nodded. The elf reached into the large satchel he carried, and produced a rough woolen blanket. He wrapped it around Daliath, before sitting down next to him.
"I am Nahal," he said, "you are Dalish. What is your name?"
"Daliath"
Nahal's eyes widened.
"Zalthira's son?" he asked in surprise.
"You knew my mother?" asked Daliath.
"A long time ago. Tell me, are you a mage?"
Daliath nodded.
Nahal got to his feet and stretched out his hand.
"Come now, we're going to the Grey Wardens"