Dragon Age 1. Prologue

**Prologue**

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A rabbit trotted along the meadow; unaware of the danger it hopped itself into. It was innocent and pure. Its large eyes caught sight of a silver glint before life faded in them.

An arrow shot through its head.

The nearby shrubbery rustled and a young elven girl, in her late childhood years, emerged.. A simple oak bow in hand with a quiver of arrows slung across her chest. So innocent but her eyes were cold, as if judging her prey.

She made her way across the field, the soft blades of grass tickling her bare heels not changing her demeanor. She was impassive, not even the warm light of the morning sun beamed her up. A young huntress with all her focus was on the bleeding prey in front of her. Carefully, she dropped the bow beside her; mindful not to step on the wood.

A small calloused hand plucked the animal by its ear while the other one yanked the offending object out of its head. Blood splattered on her drab clothing but it didn't matter, she had to continue her hunt.

"Lady Andruil, I offer this animal to you." A soft whisper to the passing zephyr.

She produced a knife from her hip and stabbed the rabbit upon its small hand dragged the blade down, spilling guts unto the green grass. The child dropped the weapon and plunged her small hand into the cavity. She maneuvered her small fingers along the innards, looking for something. Finally, she found the soft tissue. Grasping the faintly beating organ, she wrenched it out of the rabbit; painting herself in more animal gore.

She eyed the object in her blood soaked hand; a small heart. The young girl lifted it up, hoping that the goddess she had offered her kill to, gift her with praise but there was no sound. She frowned; the hunters did tell her the goddess always guided hunters on their first hunt. Fiery locks bounced as her eyes surveyed the meadow.

Nothing.

She frowned and threw the organ at the grass in annoyance. The hunters had lied, Andruil had not guided her in the hunt. She wanted to stomp on the offending organ; it mocked her, mocked her beliefs, mocked her efforts. She praised the goddess so much. Colored her in her thoughts with the sun's gold and the silver of the moon but it all amounted to nothing. Her small foot rose in the air and posed above the rabbit's heart to crush it beneath her heel. But she stopped, footsteps resounded behind her.

Not one but many.

She placed her foot down and turned to the newcomers, they were the hunters. They stopped midway, shocked at the gore she was drenched in. They composed themselves but continued their way towards her, their movements were wary. A dozen eyes darted from the rabbit in her hand to the bloody mess adorning her. Her first kill.

"_Da'len_." One spoke, his voice choking in emotion. He raised his arms towards her, as If in comfort. His rough hands settled on her small shoulders, eyes glittered with tears.

"Your Mamae. She…" He trailed off and the young girl held a look of confusion. "Mamae?" She spoke, her tiny voice a little high with innocence. He stared hard at her, unsure if he should be telling her.

"Your Mamae, she's been sacrificed." He spoke, sorrow laced in his tone but the young child beamed. Her smile baffled the hunters, why was she happy? "She's helped the goddess!"

They stared at her as if she was the Dread Wolf herself. She beamed at them, the blood caking on her skin as the morning light bathed them.

Yes, she was different.

Andruil stood with her back towards her guests as she tipped the torch enflamed with veilfire unto the pyre. If one were to describe the goddess, one would lose articulation. Andruil was a tall slender woman, gifted perhaps in the right places. She held high cheekbones, a dainty nose and a confident mouth that always voiced out her opinions. Waves of red tresses cascaded down her shoulders as emerald green eyes shaped like almonds saw the fire burn with its sacrifice.

The hunt had ended and the bodies burned at the pyre to commemorate the end of the celebration. Various oils were drenched on the cadavers, bringing out the scent of embrium and deathroot around the garden.

Andruil gazed at her servants, enjoying the thick scent of fear and admiration from them. The stench of burning bodies perfumed the high walls, misting out the late afternoon sun's rays around them.

To her right, her elite hunters stood, rigid and with their weapons strapped proudly to their bodies. Her emerald green eyes studied them, she had been told of a young child under their guidance. She bid them closer and they moved at her command.

"_Uth'ren_." A hunter spoke and she sent her gaze along his way. He stepped aside to reveal a young bloodsoaked girl beside him. In her arms was a deceased rabbit but the goddess brought her gaze to her hands for they held a small heart. She smiled and bid the child closer.

The young elven girl bounded to her, her eyes shone with mirth and her steps with excitement. She stopped in front of Andruil, her hands raised the bloody organ. It was now cold.

"Lady Andruil, my first hunt for you." The high notes of the child's voice was a delighted change to the usual baritones of her hunters. The immortal bent down and cased the organ in a soft green orb, her magic levitating it off the child's bloodied hands. Residue blood started to fill the bottom section of the orb, the rabbit's essence a familiar sight to green eyes. So this was her first hunt.

"Tell me child, who are you?"

The young girl was silent, musing at her name. Slaves never had the right to have names but inherited their parent's. With the recent passing of her mother and by the laws set by Elgar'nan, her name would be of her mother's.

"Lavellan, my goddess."

Recognition flashed in the green irises and an amused smile flitted to Andruil's lips. Fingers hovered about the orb, tipping it off as a small hole appeared at the side. Cold animal blood spilled unto Andruil's fair-skinned palm, tainting her flesh in cast a silent fire spell, delighting in how the magic coursed through her fingertips and ignited the cold liquid.

"Lavellan, shall you set each arrow straight and true?" She dipped a dainty finger unto the warmed gore. The child named Lavellan gaped at her goddess, a strange emotion in her eyes, "Yes, ma _uth'renas_."

Andruil bid the child's arms lower and traced the warmed blood on the young girl's face. The magic burned Lavellan's freckled skin, it tore at the flesh. No sooner the blood markings on her face slithered, warping into curves and familiar points. Andruil drew back her hand, proud at the way her markings shone on the young girl's face.

The immortal huntress had a new devout.

_**It was said that Andruil had hair as golden as the sun but it was her hunts that had painted her locks red. For her prey bled with each arrow and splattered their essence upon her crown. Some say that Andruil's eyes were green to blend in the forest. For every hunt not blessed, she will stalk you and kill you in kind.**_

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Author's Notes:

**Uth'ren : Uth - Immortal/ Eternal, Ren - Elder**

**Uth'renis, Uth'renas: God, Goddess**

Inspired by BreLakor's Crystal White and her awesomeness at writing Fen'harel. My take on writing an Arlathan fanfic. Don't worry, I'm not abandoning my LoL fanfic just yet.


	2. Mona Lisa

**Chapter 1: Mona Lisa, I'd Pay to See You Frown**

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It was on Falon'din's festival that he first saw her.

Fen'harel was not one to engage himself in idle chatter but he would not turn down having someone to warm his bed. He was a rogue, that he knew he was. He tipped the half-empty goblet upon his lips, delighted on the taste of wine to further lessen his inhibition. He was not one to be drunk but a little wine could help him pass Elgar'nan's judgement of his _dreadful_ nature.

He licked off the last drop of the wine Falon'din's servants offered him, relished on the taste for the night. Large hands drew back the goblet and he settled it upon the marble table provided beside him. Mischievous blue eyes studied the open garden, the gentle moonlight illuminating tonight's festivities.

The raging glow of the pyre lighted the entire setting, its raging flames casting wide shadows on the tall columns covered in ivy. He mused at the slaves dancing in front of the blaze, their skin painted black from the ashes of the morning flame.

There were a number of bodies laid dead or bleeding to their demise below the pyre. He did not envy the traitors under Falon'din's name but he could appreciate the thought of them as worthy sacrifices to appease the dead.

Ah, such was the tradition for the Night of the Dead.

Blood pooled on the marble flooring, washing the granite in crimson waves as slaves murmured their prayers and loyalty to their god. Their voices mixed with the soft strings of the lyre was tonight's music, a grim reminder of their servitude to the pantheon.

The wolf did not find value in the slaves, only amusement at their mortal nature. Was he not a god himself? He took liberties when he could but a slave girl was a passing dalliance he'd amuse himself often. That was his nature, however he never kept his share of slaves.

He was amused at their efforts of life but he could never bother himself with followers. He was a vagabond where no temple he could rest himself. He sat languidly on his seat, eyeing the gods and goddess in the celebration. Odd, it appeared Andruil has not yet arrived. He had a penchant of annoying the huntress, as if their very nature could be changed. He rose from his seat, careful not to let the blood touch the plush fabric of his robes. Fen'harel made his way around the pyre, eyes drawn to his frame as the Dread Wolf hardly graced Festivals.

The vagabond found the host of tonight's celebration and made his way towards his brethren but stopped. Eyes were drawn to the tall white spires adorning the eluvian to the garden. The purple surface shimmered and Andruil emerged.

She was as Fen'harel remembered her to be, clad in an air of authority and the biting edge of her blade found when she spoke.

Ever the familiar huntress to the pantheon she was. She was graced with her elite hunters, clad in their armory and a fresh piece of butchered halla in their bloodstained arms. So this was her offering for tonight.

Falon'din rushed to greet Andruil in welcome as the hunters assembled behind their goddess. "Andruil, it is a pleasure you have come to grace us." The soft voice of the god wove soothing tunes while his twin brother, Dirthamen, watched in silence by the side.

The immortal huntress nodded her head in appreciation and gestured to her hunters, "My gift to you, Falon'din. May you guide the souls to the great Beyond." Mirth brightened the god of death as he took in the sight of Andruil's prized animal. He stepped aside, giving passage to the elven warriors.

As if pulled by a string, they moved towards the pyre, hefting the pieces of meat in their arms with pride. Ladders were procured for them to offer the tribute to the flames, the hunters made quick work of their task. Each male dropped the meat to the blaze, the flames reflecting its thanks in their eyes. The cacophony of voices rose at the new tribute, their prayer sung with more fervor as the fire licked at the offering. The fumes from the burning meat was not unpleasant, most likely perfumed by the goddess herself.

Fen'harel made his way towards the columns, watching but not too obvious in his study. The blaze sputtered, flames rising higher in acceptance of the Halla. They shuddered once more, the color of the fire shifting to a cool blue.

A wave of gasps and 'ooh's echoed around the garden, Andruil liked to show off. He felt a little envious that his gift was a measly elixir of life that he had concocted with the aid of a Spirit friend. However, the envy was short-lived as the flames sputtered and tore the meat asunder. It grew into a fierce blame, peppering the blackened slaves with burning ashes.

They wailed in pain but did not cease their dance as the fire emblazoned its presence on Falon'din's followers. The flames swerved left and right, etching an image upon the fierce glow of the fire left a golden trail, drawing a familiar beast that had been offered a moment ago. A Halla.

Its pelt was burning gold, lighted by the odd flames of the pyre. Its wise eyes focused on the goddess who offered it, an odd emotion alight in its dark pupils. The phantom jumped off the pyre, gracefully landing on the pool of blood. Panicked shrieks from the slaves erupted and Fen'harel laughed at their fright, such petty mortals.

It galloped upon the long trail of blood, its destination towards the immortal huntress. The wolf leaned on the tall structure, an amused grin painted on his face. Blue eyes appraised the beast that bounded to the goddess, it's twisted horns posed towards the being. He had expected it would attack Andruil but no, in fact it did not.

It trotted to her side, revealing a slender elven clad in the armory of Andruil's elite hunters. The armor accentuated her slender body but he was miffed by the cowl that covered her face. His eyes trailed to her hands, they were bloody as a heart lay upon them.

The Halla trotted around her, igniting the bloodied path in a soft purple flame. It did not deter her, despite the halla's horns posed to pierce her flesh. The petite huntress merely lowered her hands as the Halla inspected its once beating heart. It prodded the organ with its nose, igniting it a soft orange.

The flames devoured the heart in a moment, soft orange on bright red muscles. The Halla nudged the flaming organ yet again but this time, the bright flames dispersed. The pyre was once orange and red, the pool of blood blackened with flame and the young huntress hands still bloody with their murder.

Falon'din looked please at the entire spectacle but his interest was to the woman beside Andruil. "I have heard of your new hunter but I did not expect a female could grace such a task."

Andruil looked smug and turned her gaze to the newcomer, "She is indeed one of my hunters, Falon'din. A fresh face to my hunters." She looked amused, as if there was humor in the collective name of her elite. She had her fair share of bedding hunters but this truth was tightly hidden. Rumors were always quashed beneath her wrath, that or the hunt would always run its course.

"_Da'san_, if you please." She spoke warmly, almost acrid at the term she used.

The cowl that shadowed her features was pulled off and Fen'harel could now appreciate her face. He could almost say she rivaled Andruil had she not donned the goddess' markings on her face.

Short fiery hair, hacked recklessly by a knife, pointed everywhere. It framed her face but not enough to call her dainty. He could see a dusting of freckles on her face, her pallor a warm color under the moonlight. Her cheekbones were high but not too distinct while her lips were temptingly kissable.

But if Fen'harel had to confess, it was her eyes that drew him. They were clear, almost blue but gray under the moonlight. Wide eyes that reflected the moon's beauty, cold and impassive. She was Andruil's teachings personified and he could not help but chuckle to himself.

Andruil must be proud to shape this girl.

The markings on her skin were a deep gray. Blue eyes followed the familiar curves and sharp points inked on her skin, they hid her features quite well. A scar along her right brow hardly changed the design but it did spoke of this huntress' past wound. Despite her cold appearance, she held a certain air of pride in her status, as would a hunter under Andruil's fickle eye.

The Dread Wolf pushed himself from the column and made his way towards Andruil, eager to learn more of her new devout.

Oh, he was amused.

**He had a new toy to play with.**

_Falon'din devoured the sea of followers into his fellowship. He was a greedy man, one who would take a lost soul under his wing. He who is kin to Dirthamen harbored secrets but his brother kept them for him. For Falon'din knew the dead do not speak so easily in his presence._

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**_Author's Notes_**: Let me know how it goes. Reviews are much appreciated :)


	3. I Wanna See

**Chapter 2: I Wanna See the Dirt Under Your Skin**

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The soft swish of fabrics brought all attention to the newcomer, Fen'harel. Falon'din smiled warmly as he let some space to guide the Dread Wolf into their conversation. Andruil raised a haughty brow at the arrival of the Wolf, he was not one to mingle with his kin on these kinds of celebrations.

"A delight to have you here, Fen'harel." Andruil mocked, her tone acrid but still cordial. If Falon'din or Dirthamen noticed, they paid it no heed. This was a common within the pantheon. The fabled wolf smirked at her ire but focused his attention to the elfling.

She was more pleasing up close, he told himself. Her short hair was indeed unruly but despite that her features were effeminate. "I'm surprised you've taken a female huntress. Tell me Andruil, are you planning to bed her as well?" His wolfish grin was plastered victoriously on his face.

His blue eyes could not miss how her cheeks flushed pink. Ah, so the rumors were true. Fen'harel shifted his gaze to the goddess, his eyes dancing with amusement. Oh how would the huntress weave herself out this time?

"I'm apalled you actually heed some useless gossip, Fen'harel. I did not expect a god as yourself to feast upon such lies." She hissed, offended of the accusation or at the truth that had been circulating for some time. Dirthamen was silent but his eyes darted between the two elves, secrets hidden beneath his pursed lips. He knew secrets but he kept them well.

Falon'din eyed the tension between them but coughed behind his fist, "Andruil, I would be delighted to learn more of your new aid." He didn't call her a hunter, in his eyes females should not be drenched in gore or in battle. Andruil was an exception. Elgar'nan had tried to quash the wildness of her spirit but he never won.

"No need to be too touchy, Andruil." Fen'harel's tone was mischevious as he sized himself up, "A playful jab is my intent. _Ir abelas_, for any insult you might have received." This was a mockery but Andruil didn't take on the bait. She new how to play The Game after all.

Lavellan's silvery eyes shift from the gods, she did not like being the center of attention. Of the twenty summers she had grown, she was never apt in dealing with the tirade of the elven pantheon. True, her favored goddess had always kept her close and guided her in the manner of the hunt, but never was she blessed in dealing with the court. How could she? She was born a slave with the quiver of arrows as salvation to the grim fate.

She shifted her feet, a display of anxiety that Andruil has countlessly failed to remove from her. She shifted her gaze towards her fellow hunters, they had indulged themselves on the meat and wine for the celebration. Jealousy prickled on her skin as she wish nothing more than to excuse herself from their presence.

A dainty hand perched itself upon her shoulder and the gods shifted their attention to the individual behind her. Lavellan's own curious eyes peeked behind, awed at the brilliant beauty of the All-Mother, Mythal.

She had never seen the mother goddess but words could not hold the beauty of this goddess. She held a warm smile, lighting up her soft features in a light you wanted to bathe in. Her golden hair framed her face while loving azure eyes appraised the young elven.

The unwanted attention was beyond Lavellan could deal with and Mythal must have known. "My, quite a curious troupe we have here." Her tone was light, and she steered the young hunter away from the gazes of the pantheon. "Go feast, _da'san_. You have earned your keep." He slid his hands off the huntress and flashed a smile to everyone in the small gathering.

Lavellan raised her eyes to her goddess, ever faithful to the hunt. Andruil held no power over Mythal and with a pointed gaze, she dismissed the young elven. The young huntress bowed to them before making haste to the platters of food laid for the night.

She did not know how vital she was in The Game.

She picked up a grape from her platter and bit on the exquisite fruit. It was a luxury to have these meals.

Lavellan had never considered her status as Andruil's devout hunter to partake in the festivities best suited for the gods or higher echelons of their society. This odd game that populated everyone's lips was strung high in the air.

She pushed the remainder of the fruit, relishing on the sharp tang on her tongue. Her clean hands was a sight she often see. Despite being able to cleanse herself each day, the blood would taint her skin so deep. Sometimes she felt it mocked her, this life, this status. Sometimes the animals she slaughtered would creep in her dreams, taunting her, drenching her in her own blood.

But Andruil would whisper them away, sometimes the darkness creeped up on her. Sometimes, she felt it grip her, strong and choking. At certain times she would walk up, hands bloody from the scratches on her arms or gripping her hunting knife so they tell her she was special, such is a lie spun by those in awe of her status.

Her eyes darted back to the elven pantheon gathered before her. Their beauty was ethereal. Mythal was a mother as the tales spun of her. She was warm like the sun that rouses Lavellan each morning.

Falon'din's pale pallor did speak of his tidings with the dead. His ebony black hair cascaded in a stream down upon his back. His eyes were a hollow gray, as if the color of the spirits he ferried into their end. He was tall with soft features much like Mythal. He swathed himself in dark colors with a dash of light green, as if the colors of the Beyond adorning him in its glory.

Dirthamen was of equal pallor, pale and swath in dark fabrics. His eyes were a deep black, endless of the secrets they hold. He covered himself with much fabric that it was hard to determine his physique. From the stray locks of hair, his tresses were just as black as his twin.

Fen'harel. Lavellan could not help but let a rare smirk paint her features. He held an air of arrogance as if he was entitled to the pleasures for his godhood. He was tall, much taller than Andruil but not of Falon'din. His skin was sun-kissed and a small skull adorned his forehead. His hair was a rich black and tumbled at a side in waves, so unruly like his nature. The wolf.

In truth, Lavellan was enamored of him, this Dread Wolf. He was a lone man, one who did not hold his share of followers or colored priests. Odd, how one as linked to the wild as he was, did not crave for followers. A wolf needs a pack, does it not? It perturbed her and piqued her curiosity greatly. A god who squandered so much time in dallying with strangers, feasting on the festivals and causing mayhem in Arlathan.

That was his story.

It was confusing. She never understood the spark of curiosity he ignited within her.

**End notes:**

_Slaves never had rights to names but are provided with their parent's names once the predecessors pass away. For a time, children are considered by the colors of their hairs or their eyes. Only when their parents are dead are they branded into slavery or under the devotion of their chosen god or goddess._

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**_Author's Notes_: **Hope you like the new update! Please do leave me reviews about the latest chapters, your thoughts and words are always welcome.


	4. How to Lie

**Chapter 3: Show Me How to Lie, You're Getting Better All the Time**

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The resounding thwack of the arrow hitting the wood was a reassuring sound upon Lavellan's ears. She relaxed her posture, the familiar ironbark bow gifted to her gave her a respite from yesterday's festivities.

She eyed the markers on her target, a little irked at how her shot was a little off from the vital. She was unable to focus as she usually could. The huntress inhaled deeply, relishing at the crisp scent of the herbs around her. The birds sang soft tunes above the high canopies as the morning light filtered down from thick boughs.

Calloused fingers trailed down her thigh, fiddling on the thick ram leather of her quiver. She trailed the pads along the rim, eyes still judging the wind and the distance of the target.

Strange, there was no wind today.

Shrugging the absence of the morning zephyr, Lavellan fingered the feathers of her arrows before picking one. She raised the bow as her grip on the arrow settled in front of her. She pulled on the taut string, the feathers tucked between her fingers. Sharp eyes trained on the target but everything felt off, something was missing.

She brushed the incessant thoughts aside and steadied her aim. _Pierce straight and true_. She spoke of it as a prayer to each arrow upon her bow, each kill in her sight. Just as Andruil taught her. And she released, the bolt flew with a sharp push from the string.

_Straight_, as she was taught and it pierced the vital mark of the target. _True_, as she aimed.

A rare smile lightened her features and this time the huntress relaxed her arms, settling the bow by the thick roots of a Sylvanwood. She flexed her fingers, enjoying her early morning ritual.

She raised her arms and stretched them overhead, appreciating the pop her shoulders made. Gray eyes surveyed the area studied the dense foliage. Nothing was amiss but she could tell today would be different, "It's a pleasure to have someone watching me, _ma_ _uth'renis._"

The forest shivered, as if the surface of the lake rippled by a thrown stone. The green brush beside her shook. The scenery shuddered once more and like a mirror, cracks appeared and they fell apart. Fragments of the illusion dispersing to reveal the Lord of Tricksters himself.

"My, I did not expect you to notice me, huntress." His deep husky voice dragged each syllable as if teasing her. She watched him, wary but also amused that he would find her. Oh why would a wolf find a hunter? It was confusing but a welcome thought.

"I would fail as an elite to not notice you." She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned all her weight on a single foot, making her hip jut out; it was an arrogant move made to mock the god. But who could tell her off? Andruil kept that confident streak on her, "_livened up the hunters"_ she had once said. "However, why is a member of the elven pantheon stalking a hunter "

"You humor yourself, _da'assan._ I am merely having a stroll." He chuckled, amused at the confidence she exuded. "Is this god no longer welcome in the forest?"

She wrinkled her nose, annoyed at the pet name he had given her. She was no longer a child but she would humor him. Gods do not walk so casually in the forests of Arlathan, much less the Dread Wolf himself.

It was an odd spectacle, this god. He was clad in silken fabrics, careful not to let mud upon the plush clothing. Thick fur wrapped around his shoulders, the word wolf immediately sprang to her mind as if every fiber in him screamed at it. His dark hair tumbled in thick locks, down the right side of his face, a curtain that could hardly hide the smirk he plastered on his face.

The rebel god made his way, graceful in gait. His every step was measured and every move of his body held an air of arrogance. Maybe that was what confounded her, the very thick aura of his arrogance. Magic sizzled the air, perhaps his incantations had unsettled the natural elements but instead of being on-guard, Lavellan was in awe.

Andruil, despite her divine status, hardly made use of magic in the sport of hunting. Fen'Harel, however, flaunted the very magic of his blood in spurts of ice and sizzling electricity that crackled in the air. Her silver eyes were drawn to his display, in awe of the show he provided her.

He stopped in front of the huntress, deep blue eyes shone with mischief.

Oh how she was so easily amused.

Fen'harel merely wanted to watch her as she drove each arrow from her bow to the target. Of course, he did not know she had been well adapted to the feel of magic to announce his presence. Not that the god himself was even trying his best to hide his presence.

It did not come off as a big shock that she could sense him, she was an elite huntress after all. But Fen'harel could not help but appreciate her innocent awe at marveling how simple magics could catch her off-guard.

Such a sheltered soul. And it provoked him even more, the more innocence in that hardened soul.

He fell in step in front of her, amused at the difference of their height. She was a head shorter but her silvery eyes did not back down from his gaze. She was like Andruil's sister if not for her markings marring the flesh. His hand cradled her chin, turning her side to side as he scrutinize each dip and slant of the brand.

"You wear it proud." He mused, eyes tracing the markings on her flesh. She scowled at how he gaped at her marks, as if they were so uncommon. "Will you please unhand me?" She spoke, polite but acidly. His eyes sought hers, they were filled with amusement. "You don't sound convincing, _daas'san_."

Narrowed silver eyes stared back at him, and she clutched his wrist with a tight grip. It didn't hurt him but he couldn't help indulging her effort. Painting an illusion of pain at her grip, he loosened his fingers and even grimaced at her grip. He was awarded with a smirk from her as she guided his fingers away from her face.

She held his wrist tauntingly, her eyes shone with triumph. Oh but he was just playing around with her of course. How can a mortal truly best a god? His pained expression melted into amusement and this time his long fingers caged her wrist. "Did you truly believe you have me so easily, huntress?" His voice caressed her skin, bubbling with seduction.

He stretched her arm with little effort as he neared her, his breath tickling the flesh beckoning goose flesh. His blue eyes captured her gaze and he could not help but tease her. A wandering tongue lapped at the skin of her wrist as she watched him. She pulled on his grip but it was futile. Despite the magic coursing in his veins, Fen'harel had his share of strength.

"Oh, how fun you truly are." She glowered at him, fury coursing in her veins at his words but he didn't know that. And he trailed his lips towards her digits, innocent of how red they truly were.

She gritted her teeth and with her free hand, she shoved his shoulder away. It caught him off guard. His fingers slid from their grip and she jumped back, wanting as much distance from him as possible. To put more salt to the wound, Lavellan wiped the damp skin of her wrist. His blue eyes flashed from her arms to her eyes, he had regained his composure.

"I never caught your name, _da'assan_." He spoke, a teasing tone laced in those words. She straightened herself and let a rare smile flit to her features as she pieced a response in her mind. "That is because you never caught it." She was witty, this pet of Andruil and by instinct his hands shot out towards her but she evaded them.

She would not be fooled a second time.


	5. I Keep You

**Chapter 4: I'll Keep You My Dirty Little Secret**

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**WARNING: Graphic themes ahead.**

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Her bare feet skidded upon the mud, her legs decorated with lacerations from the shrubberies she weaved through. Frantic silver eyes inspecting every shred of the foliage as the mischievous god who had usurped her morning was chuckling at her. She notched one arrow, aimed high at the canopies filtering the strong glow of noon.

She released the taut string and focused as her arrow sang through the air. It drew a straight path, whistling its progress towards the branches but it bounced off. The sharp sound of glass cracking under the metal tip echoed within the forest while the illusion rippled from her attack. The colors of the canopy shimmered and pale fragments of the barrier fell towards her like shards of the moon.

Fen'harel's frowning face was her reward. The tables had turned somewhere along the game. She was never the one to run away and maybe he was always the one who was chased.

He needed her name but why was she chasing him? She couldn't piece the words but the thrill of the hunt made her high. His use of magic had fascinated her, piqued her interest that she had turned the tables in their scuffle. He baited her quite a number of times and she always tried to grasp them, the little treats he set for her. Was she truly a huntress?

She grasped the fallen fletching and notched it upon her bow, pleased with how the tight the string was underneath her fingers. She unlatched her fingers from the weapon and watched in appreciation as the arrow soar higher but it didn't hit Fen'harel as she had hoped. His long robes dangled down the high branches, still retaining a state of elegance despite the nature of their game. He hardly broke a sweat on his brow while she was littered with scratches from the scuffle.

He effortlessly caught her arrow in his hand, smiling at how her attempts to hurt him were fruitless. His long fingers gripped the object, blue eyes studying the item with glee. He had to admit the invisible barrier slowed the speed of her arrow thus making it easy to catch the arrow. He broke the projectile in his hand and then shimmered out of view.

She glared at the empty branches and cursed lowly at his ability to use such magic. She almost felt jealous, almost. She closed her eyes, letting the forest tell her where he was. Soft rustling of the leaves carried by the wind and soft bubbling of the creek nearby was a pleasant thought. There would be some hallas find refuge from the noon sun there.

She focused further, trying to broaden her ability to track through the aid of nature's melody. There. She spoke in her mind as she finally heard the soft padding of sandaled feet. She honed in on that particular sound as it drifted farther away from her. She pressed her fingertips on the ground, feeling the echoes of his steps. She tried her best to pinpoint him, gauging the distance of each tree and shrub within her wake. No sooner, silver eyes opened and she smiled to herself. She would find him, this Fen'harel.

_It's a gift._

Her goddess had told her back then. A gift to find her prey, something that Andruil had blessed her with. Her fellow hunters had been envious of her skill but did not dwell upon the emotion. She was a pretty little thing, as they said. Ever curious but silent on the lips. After all, she was not the one that Andruil indulged most of her attention too.

She was in her adolescent years when Andruil had stopped from excusing her during their nightly meetings. Of course, it had appalled her at first. She didn't know what to do but the hunters had initially forced her to watch, tainted with an odd kind of darkness in their eyes.

They had pulled on her once, whispering their pleas upon her ears but she always ceased them. An arrow pointed upon their crown for emphasis always worked. For despite her ever curiosity, she never envied the twisted looks on their face or how their sweat-slicked bodies moved in pleasure.

She could never understand the strange gratification in their actions but Andruil had chided her one day. "In time, da'len, you will understand." Heruth'renas had held her chin, garnering much of her attention while the men dressed in the background.

She shuddered at the memory. True, the darkness did fade when morning came but it was always unsettling but it didn't change Andruil. Her goddess was still the beacon she followed and her words, the backbone to her identity.

She shook the thoughts out of her mind and steadied herself, he was a few steps away from her. Lavellan crouched low, eyes straining to each small movement within the vicinity. It was silent, far too silent to be the forest.

She brought her weight upon the balls of her feet and lunged towards a certain direction. She half expected a barrier to meet head-on but her fingers brushed on plush fabrics. Her arms wrapped around his midsection as he emitted a surprised cry.

She had him.

He honestly did not expect her to find him. He could surmise that Andruil hardly used magic in hunts; it was a petty way to hunt after all. However, Fen'harel could not mask his surprise when she lunged at him, her sinewy arms wrapping around his torso. It had baffled him, how this young elven huntress could see through the mirage.

"I've caught you." She spoke, her voice was a low murmur as silver eyes danced with triumph. She stared at him, right through him perhaps. He was her prize, the prey she had fought to catch.

And she did.

Her tone was a wanton caress on his skin, and it truly ignited his interest as well as his arousal. But of course, he too can play her game. Just as she wound her arms around him, he wrapped his own limbs around her in kind. The tall god bent down, his lips a mere breath from her ears.

"So it seems, but I have also caught you as well." He languidly drew back and let an amused smirk graced his features as her own expression filled with indignation. Her arms slackened around him and she tried to wriggle herself out, it was a painful task.

He had to grit his teeth in frustration as her lithe body rubbed against him in the most inappropriate of the Dread Wolf never released her, he could not help but relish the glares that she was sending his way.

"So this was your game?"

"Indeed. You fell right through it did you not?" His tone was mocking and strained, he could not just ravish her. No, that was not how he played his games. His share of women would come willingly, not like how his brothers would have theirs.

It sickened him, bedding elven slaves who screamed for respite from their cruel fate. He shook his head, that was a tale left for another time.

Now, however, Andruil's little arrow was his entertainment and oh, she was enflamed.

Her small hands fisted on the fabric of his clothing and her small feet pressed upon the green grass. She pushed him roughly against the tree, knocking the very wind from his lungs. Oh she was interesting. "You never did tell me your name. If you would, I might loosen my arms around you."

"A hunter never gives their name to their prey." She spoke, her voice seeped through gritted teeth as her silver eyes shone in her anger.

"Was that what Andruil taught you?" He chuckled, "Then again, your prey never live to know your names, I presume?"

This time she let a feral smile on her lips, "Not all prey die in our hands, Wolf." Ah, so he calls her wolf. He let a wolfish grin appraise his lips in play with her chosen name. "Pity. Andruil never teaches you about magic." He tightened his arms around her, bringing her closer to his lean frame. Yet again his lips found her ear but this time he let his lips press upon her lobe.

"A pity what you miss out on, little huntress." The soft touch of his breath on her flesh make her shudder but she shrugged off the sensation so easily. He gaped at her, trying to gauge her reaction but she was emotionless. Almost like a doll save for her sharp tongue and her occasional burst of the hunter's instinct. She was more tool than elf.

He stepped to the side, bringing himself away from the trunk. Her hands pressed upon him, errant on trying to corner him like the animal she believed him to be. Her feet shuffled underneath her, stepping over undergrowths and the sharp prick of stone as she pushed him, a wall, a ravine, anywhere.

He could hear the bubbling of a stream nearby and he flashed her a wolfish grin as his sandals met no ground beneath them. The god pulled her small frame to his as he felt the wind whipping on his skin. She did not scream but he felt amusement as she closed her eyes and how her knuckles were white as she held on.

She was not too far gone it seemed.

He cast a barrier around them, grunting at each time his body collided with the steep ground. Each sharp rock elicits a cry from her but his arms were quick to shield her from any further harm. A splash echoed throughout the foliage and Fen'harel found himself underwater, he choked on the water and arms flailing everywhere.

He tried to find a sure footing on the rocky ground but his sandaled feet slipped and he cursed inwardly as more of the water rushed into his mouth. He briefly wondered how the huntress was doing. Only then did he notice the absence of a figure in his arms nor was he holding on to anything.

He opened his eyes and found no elf in his arms. He panicked and righted himself upon the gravel-filled ground. His eyes fell upon the stream as he braced himself against the current; his large palms fell upon the shallows.

He sputtered, coughing out the water he had swallowed. He haphazardly crawled to the shore, cursing at the weight his clothing was giving him. He did note the loss of his favorite pelt in the spectacle. He'd find that pelt, somehow.

Fen'harel breathed in, relishing the sensation of air filling his lungs. He found a familiar set of feet in front of him, damp with their recent obstacle. He smirked to himself, forgoing his usual grace and pushed upon the earth.

Fen'harel chuckled as he "It seems you're unscathed, you must be th-"

His lips found hers, pressed accidentally in his ascent. Had she not been bent inspecting him, he would have avoided this entire experience. Fen'harel could feel how rigid she was with her lips pressed above his. There were no coherent thoughts in his brain, just the one word so blatantly running it course. **Kiss**.

He had to be surprised and he could see so was she.

The huntress was bent down towards him as her body leaned from the shore. Her usually rebellious crimson hair clung to her sharp angled face; accentuating her long ears. His eyes trailed a little lower; appreciating how her clothes stuck to her lithe frame.

He drew his head back; he should have done it sooner. Eyes wide; and what was that odd warmth creeping upon his cheeks? He was at a loss, embarrassed probably. She was frozen, her posture still the same, silver eyes so wide they could rival the moon. The huntress gaze shifts from his lips to his eyes, a number of times.

Unfortunately for her, he recovered quite easily and the walker of the Beyond trudged to shore. He was all soak clothing and damp flesh, his thick locks plastered upon his tanned skin. "Speechless, huntress?" He grinned at her, her cheeks inflamed but still very much frozen in her stupor. Her hands clenched and unclenched, emotions raging in her gaze.

"Now, will you tell me your name?"

"Lavellan." She spoke it so quickly he almost didn't catch it. Lavellan, so that was her name. Once the name left her lips she edged away from him, confusion so deeply etched on her features. This time Fen'harel did not hesitate.

His warm hand took her chin and he whispered upon her lips, "You're supposed to close your eyes when you kiss." The Dread Wolf no sooner followed his breath, lips upon hers and he waited. Deep blue eyes studied silver as she watched him. He felt her tense under his touch but no sooner her eyes drifted shut and he felt the tension slowly ebbed away.

The trickster followed his words as he kissed her, warm lips pressed against the cold wind's touch.

_He had finally caught her._

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**Author's Notes: Reviews are much appreciated.**


	6. Down Until You

**Chapter 5: Chase You Down Until You Love Me**

Lavellan paused, thoughts in disarray as her mind toyed around with the memories that transpired during morning.

Her fingers traced the soft flesh of her lips, wondering how odd the sensation had been, how foreign. It was peculiar, like two pieces of a whole joined together. She remembered the way his lips felt against hers; hot and rough, almost craving her own. The first one had been an accident, it was fumbling and unsure. It spoke of her inexperience and how a god could be caught off-guard. But he removed that stigma and lived up to his nature when he claimed her lips once again.

_You're supposed to close your eyes when you kiss._

He said those words so casually, given how much of a womanizer he was. She couldn't help the prickling sensation that he left on her lips, was that part of his magic too? The way his taste rolled off of her tongue, like the sharp sting of spices and well-aged wine. He was a deep flavor, one she didn't think she could get accustomed too. She feared she'd never lose the familiar taste on her tongue.

She could still feel the way his smile ghosted over her skin. If she looked closely, his hand left imprints of his mana on her skin. A soft whisper but she couldn't take him out of her thoughts.

She raised her gaze to the leaves around her, the soft breaths of her companions falling into her hearing. The young elf was thankful Andruil had never brought her affections to her, only that of a mentor to a student. The goddess only reserved that affection to the males. Lavellan didn't envy them though, the way the men move their bodies and faces crumpled with their passion.

She couldn't help but wonder if intimacy was truly as delicious as they had told her. The young huntress shook her head; there was no need to have such wandering thoughts taint her mind. They were hunting for supper and it would be a shame to go back empty-handed.

Her bare feet settled upon the smooth surface of a moss-ridden stone. Her eyes were fierce in the darkening sky but it was not a disadvantage to the huntress. Her silver eyes shone through the shadows the dark sky cast upon her. The soft sounds of the forest were her melody for the night.

The crunch of dead leaves beneath her fellow hunter's feet echoed through the clearing. Scampering of small paws on the grass made her know there was prey nearby. She took one arrow from her quiver, enjoying the sharp sound of metal against the woven container.

Nimble fingers perched the arrow against the bow as her fingers pulled the string, the thread sings under her fingers. "Lady Andruil, my aim be true." She releases the fletching and it soars to her prey. Behind her, arrows are free from their bows and they rain upon the creature their gaze has fallen on. Pained cries erupt in the air and once again there was silence.

A sigh escaped her lips as she relaxes her stance, "That is all for tonight." Her soft voice causes the various hunters to relax and they peek out from their locations. Some held grim looks, envious of her rank, above her while some held a resolute face, thankful of the task to be done.

"Hare and halla for tonight." Another hunter emerged from the bushes. He was holding some rabbits in his hand while a slain halla was tucked under his shoulder. His eyes studied the group, falling upon the lone female. He was tall, well built with the familiar strokes of vallaslin in dark green on his angled face. He had earth brown hair and eyes that shone blue in the night, Tamlen. "Nice shot, Lavellan. Hit him dead in the eye." He raised the halla a little higher, taking great notice at how the arrow embedded itself in the creature's head.

"Never a missed shot, huh?" A fair-haired hunter spoke, his vallaslin a sharp red against his tanned skin. He toys around with a dagger, waving it around like it was a toy instead of a weapon. Argus. The notorious sword tongue of the lot. "I do keep wondering what's inside that pretty little head of yours."

He stalks towards her, intimidating her with his height but she was hardly fazed. The blade posed along the smooth column of her throat but she didn't move. Cold silver eyes studied him, watching his every detail. "You should not do that Argus, our lady doesn't-"

"Silence! Doesn't it irk you how this little elfling has to take the show?" He drags the edge across her skin, making a thin cut. Blood bloomed upon the wound but she hardly moved. "Not going to defend yourself, da'len? You look good enough to ravish already," He runs his tongue along her lips.

His free hand settles on her shoulder while everyone else watch on. However this time the female did speak, "If you will not cease your yapping, I will stab you and drag the dagger down to your pelvis so your guts spill out."

Argus staggers back as her words filled the clearing. The other hunters chuckle nervously and he shot each one of them. The veiled threat in her words was not so hidden. Tamlen stepped towards the two, eager to stop the unneeded banter but Argus was adamant. He presses the dagger upon her neck, letting the blade dig deeper.

"Why do you all laugh? Did you truly think it was funny?" He grins, a mad glee in his eyes. "You're so full of yourself. Let's see what you can do without our Goddess watching." He proceeds to trail his fingers to the ribbons holding her armor to her body. He licks his lips as he drags his digits down, eyeing the precious laces but her fingers catch his. Her silver eyes glint in the moonlight, a sharp edge in them.

"I was serious when I told you that I will stab you." Her fingers twist his hand and he wails in pain. The dagger falls from his limp hands and he drops to his knees. With her feet, she picks the bloodied dagger with her toes. Lavellan bends down to reach for the weapon, her hands curled around the soiled hilt. "Fancy blade. Pilfered from one of your trysts with the priests?"

He cried out as her fingers drove his wrist at an awkward angle. "No answer? Pity." The blade dangles from her fingers, the tip of the dagger dripping her blood on his shoulder. "What I said is true. Shall I stab you now?" She raises the dagger above her head as Argus cowers beneath her. Male voices cry out in shock and tried to soothe her.

"Lavellan." The hand stills mid-air and she turns to the owner of the voice. An wizened hunter, the vallaslin hiding the deep lines of his age. Dark hair like that of the night with slivers of gray crowned his head as scars littered his sun-kissed skin. He held his hands up, as if trying to soothe her. "Da'len, there is no need for violence. The goddess will be displeased with you."

Lavellan lowers the dagger and releases Argus. A collective sigh erupts from the group and they shuffle away from the scene. Tamlen sends her a frustrated gaze before he too leaves with the onlookers. The wizened hunter stays for a while, a grim look on his face as Lavellan made her way towards him.

"Bael." She spoke his name. It was his own name, not the one he inherited. He had watched over her as a child but her kinship towards him was that of a fellow hunter. Argus scampered to his feet, cradling his injured wrists. His earth brown eyes filled with hate as he spat his words, "You'll curse the day that you were born, Lavellan!"

He scampers off, trying to reunite with the hunters who had already left him. The older male makes his way to the injured huntress. Her smaller hands are clasped at the cut. "You are bleeding da'len." His eyes are concerned as his hand is reaching out towards her. She swats it away, a lethal edge in her eyes at the wary touches that the men seem too keen on bestowing upon her.

"A flesh wound, Bael. I won't die from such a petty cut." She spoke in a cold voice as they made their way out. Her palms are painted red with crimson, reminding her so much of the Halla's blood that streaked her skin. A torn cloth was shoved into her bloodied hands and when she looked up, Bael was striding away.

She casually covers the wound and follows after the elf as her stomach growled in protest.

…

The halls are alight with the flaming braziers, the wisps of flames coiling in delight of the kindlings. The long table settled in the middle of the wide arched hall was delightfully covered in an intricately woven cotton in floral designs. Lavellan almost felt sorry for it as the hunters engorged on the spiced Halla meat served for the night.

Andruil has her own share, eating like the Goddess as she is with her plateful of meat. Wine was passed around by eager hands but the young elf did not drink much to drive her to intoxication.

"Lavellan." Andruil's calm yet stern voice rose above the ruckus and the huntress paused. Silver gaze found exquisite emerald, they held a certain annoyed glaze in them. "What is with those bandages upon your neck, da'assan?" She juts her chin out signalizing to the fresh wrappings around Lavellan's neck.

"A mere mishap, ma uth'renas." She spoke calmly but did not provide more answers. Her response did not please the elven goddess and no sooner she was behind Lavellan. Rough hands pulled the younger elf's face upwards and sharp nails raked down her throat.

"You are not telling me the truth, da'len." The table was now filled with silence as the silverware clattered, wine spilled staining the pristine cloth red. "Do tell me, child." Her voice was thick, savory with lust as Andruil's lips breathed upon her ear.

"Argus." The name was spoken softly but to everyone in the table, it was a cry. The elf stood from his seat, eyes wide with the revelation. "Ma uth'renas. It is not I. There truly was no fault in my actions." He shrinks under the Immortal's gaze, her green gaze like poison.

"Argus. What have you done? Have I not made clear not one shall damage Lavellan?" She slips her hands from Lavellan's neck and she slipped behind Argus. So sudden, the movement so fluid they didn't even catch her.

Smooth arms wrapped around Argus' abdomen and Andruil's lips pressed upon his neck, "You've been wary, Argus. Is there something that I have done to offend you?" He nervously swallows the bile that rose up his throat, "Of course not Lady Andruil." Her hands raked down his abdomen, pushing his robes aside. Her palms met warm skin and every male swallowed thickly.

Servants never ceased in serving wine but their eyes shifted away from the spectacle. Lavellan resumed her eating, intent to finish her meal. Tamlen pursed his lips at how Andruil's hands roamed Argus' chest. He swallowed thickly as he imagined her own hands on his but shook the lustful thoughts away.

"Ma uth'renas." He stood from his seat, albeit with much difficulty. "I believe we can… we can settle this matter after dinner." He slumps back down to his seat, clearly spent at the effort of talking back to the goddess. A hunter to his side clamps a reassuring hand upon his shoulder.

Immediately, her hands fell and she stepped away from Argus, feigning a weak look upon her face. "Ah, Tamlen, ever the sound of reason. Indeed, I have spoilt your dinner, my beloved hunters." She lets out a pained moan that makes everyone stiffen, "I shall see you all."

She quickly steps away from the dining hall but not before pausing by the entrance. She cocked her head to the side, the moonlight reflected on green irises. "Lavellan, come." The young elvhen rises from her seat, her plate empty of the dinner she picked out. Quietly, the archer walks to the immortal's side.

A sharp slap bounces through the walls as Andruil's palm met Lavellan's branded cheek. The flesh flushed red at the strike but the young archer did not utter a cry. She was cold, silent and waiting as her skin burned under the assault. "You do understand why, do you not da'assan?"

"Yes, my goddess." She dropped her gaze to the floor as Andruil's hands cradled her face. Willowy fingers mapped out her tattoos, tracing them lovingly, "Do not lie to me again, da'len. Let this be a lesson." She kisses Lavellan upon her forehead, then her temple and finally upon the swollen cheek. The prized pet hardly shifted her features as Andruil drew back and proceeded to her quarters.

She glanced at the dark hallways, noting the seductive sway of Andruil's lips. She stepped away from the entrance and shifted her gaze to the seated men. They let out sighs of relief and patted Tamlen's back, commending him for his brave act.

"Where have you fallen now, Lavellan?" Argus' loud voice rose from the laughter but she merely gawked at him. Her impassive look causes him to laugh awkwardly. He resumes his dinner and Lavellan makes her way towards her quarters with the stinging pain of her cheek as her company for the remainder of the night.

_Tonight will be another red night._

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**_Author's Notes_**_: _This was a hard chapter to write because I was like damn, what do we do next? But I thought you'd get a little insight on what the trades are within Andruil's eyes. Don't worry, more Fen'Harel x Lavellan scenes to come. I wanted to show Andruil's borderline insanity.

If you're familiar, she does go to the Dark Ones a number of times before she becomes insane. This is set before she becomes mad, she's getting there. I'm also really serious that in this fic Andruil does stuff behind the doors with her hunters, so here it is.

I'm really interested to know how the new chapter was in your thoughts. All the comments are welcome! I really need to improve my writing after all. :)

Thanks for reading!


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