Here's my first story, something that I thought of a bit ago. Quick Summary: It's the Dwarf Commoner (Male) stuck in love with a Female Cousland, who happens to be in love with Alistair instead. He sacrifices himself to end the Blight, not really feeling that life is worth living.
I don't think I ever actually used Alistair's name in this piece. Something that seems to fit, really. Anyways, enough ranting, here's your story.
_
He stirred the fire, keeping his eyes firmly on the blaze. His eyes wandered, finally meeting those of the one he was deliberately avoiding, hoping she wouldn't notice. Ducking his head back down, Faren winced, hoping it wasn't as bad as he made it out to be. They were sitting over there, and he barely resisted glaring at their elder Warden. The damn bastard had taken away any chance he'd had. Not that she'd have even glanced at him anyways, but the bitter dwarf wished that once, just once, that things could've gone his way. It wouldn't have to be the drunken fighter, Everd, stumbled into the Proving, destroying any chance he had of living a peaceful life with some noble. Or even an existence in Dust Town, stuck among scum. Anything would've been better, he reflected, than being stuck here, madly in love with some human girl who clearly fancied someone else.
Faren finished off his meal before wandering through the tents to find his. There hadn't been a chance when they'd first met, because she was obviously smitten with the tall, handsome human even then. It hadn't been as openly obvious, but he knew, and while he hadn't been quite so much in love with her, the open hate was growing. He hated the human, the bastard son, but he couldn't do anything. To kill him silently would break her heart, and to keep those blades sheathed was a trial, even more so than Beraht's lewd remarks. After collapsing on his bed, Faren closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it'd be like without the blonde man. They'd been friendly, for a while at least. But he couldn't stand watching the two pine after each other, wouldn't watch. It was the quiet acceptance of the others that drew most of his hatred. After all, he too, had fallen in love with the beautiful noble. But he was a castless, a useless lump of nug dung on the side of the streets.
He wanted to punch someone. Murdering darkspawn was always sweet relief, a burden he was more than willing to bear. They were marching to Redcliffe, to face the final battle. After that, Faren wasn't sure what he'd do. Perhaps the world would give him a break, let him become a Paragon to take his mind off her. Faren let his mind linger on the dreams Rica had conjured. The riches, the glory. But for some reason the idea wouldn't stick. He wasn't a gold-shod noble, wasn't the important one. Duncan had taken him out of pity, no doubt, and in case Elissa had died during the Joining. He was the one who had nearly died, waking up to spot him comforting her. He received the amulet, a tradition, nothing more.
When they discovered the darkspawn gone to Denerim instead, Faren shrugged. Glory was for them, the future rulers of Ferelden. He was the shadow, the useless dwarf who followed because he had nothing better to do. When Riordan told them of what ending the Blight required, he shrugged. "I'll do it." They sighed in safety, and he stroked her cheek. Elissa threw her arms around him, whispering worries and concerns. All were waved away. The two junior Wardens were going to lead the fight against the Generals, while the bastard prince was to stay behind and guard the gates. Neither of them were happy about it, but the Cousland noble tried to appear that way, tried to be chipper in front of her fellow Warden. "I mean it's not as if we won't see each other again..." She had begun to blabber on.
Faren was exhausted, tired of the worry etched in her face, and the tight reign he kept on himself. It was with Duncan's weapons that he fought, stabbing forwards, always near to tears. But the dry eyes he forced on himself allowed her to remain calm, and so he stayed as calm as he could be. He saw the Archdemon, waiting for him on the roof. It was time, he knew. Rica would cry herself to sleep for days. Leske would sit numbly in a corner, managing his emotions well enough not to be seen crying. Another fell. Exhaustion would not claim him, would not take his shield. His mother would turn to more drink, killing herself even faster.
She would not notice, and that was the most stinging bite of all. She would forget, after a time, living in politics and the arms of the bastard, the royal screw-up. Pain. His arms burned, the slashes across them barely noticeable. He'd die anyways. The last straw was the pain that shot through his stomach. Something had gotten him. Grimacing, Faren drew Duncan's sword. "Hey, dumbass!" Anger seared through his words, burned in his belly. The burn went beyond the normal pain of his anger, the hatred he felt. The dragon thing had turned, was facing him. "A kiss for luck." He muttered this, hearing the last words they'd spoken. He was leaping now, charging in to suicide. Death was the only release, the only thing he could bear any longer. The dagger plunged into the eye, the sword through its head. The pain was doubled, tripled. He was falling down, almost feeling the bones breaking as he landed.
They were rushing for him, he could see that. But she got there first, before his vision faded almost entirely. Their voices were far away, and the rippling pain had vanished for an instant. "A kiss for luck." The scene played again, but with him standing next to her, watching her go away with him. Faintly he could hear her crying his name, asking if he was alright. Then there was nothing, and he wondered where he'd go. Did dwarves exist in the Fade after death? Something warm was enveloping him, something comforting. The pain was fading, and as he turned to look back on his body, seeing it and faintly knowing it was his, a single tear fell from his eye.