It was never presented as an option, but what if Dwarf Noble Prince Duran Aeducan went on to marry Anora and become a Prince of Ferelden. An AU on what might have been.

Bioware owns Dragon Age: Origins.

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Prologue Part I – The Confirmation

Duran Aeducan lightly scratched his beard, dabbing his fingers gently across his cheeks in a smooth fashion.

He would be unlikely to admit it, but he was a little nervous. In truth he wasn't entirely sure that his plan would work, or that it was for the best. A part of him knew it was - the alternative was abhorrent to his friend and not likely to be in the interests of stability. On the other hand he was aware that a part of him knew his plan was based partially on pride and even, he admitted to himself, a little greed.

His companion noticed his discomfort and interrupted his thoughts.

'Are you sure about this? Don't won't to back out or anything? It isn't too late you know, to go back out there with our fingers in our ears and pretend none of this ever happened.'

Duran smiled in response, shaking his head politely as though to dismiss the notion entirely.

His companion, Alistair, had a way of always making light of the situation. But he wasn't always joking. There were times he was serious and sober. However that was more often the exception than the rule. In those cases where he wasn't joking, they were always of a serious nature that a cheerful mood wouldn't be appropriate in any event.

'No. This is the only way if you don't want to be King.'

Alistair laughed and waved his hands almost frantically before him, 'Ooohhh no. I don't think I would ever want that. Dealing with all those problems and having people suck up to me all day. No thanks. Besides, something tells me being raised in a stable by giant slobbering dogs isn't the best way to prepare you for being a king.'

Duran only nodded in response, his eyes focusing on the stone floor.

It was true enough he mused. Not the giant dogs of course, but the lack of a formal education that Alistair referred to. Alistair had never been prepared to be King, he had never even received an education that would be sufficient for court. Even if he wanted it, he would be attacked from all sides by those more experienced in the game. Politics was particularly brutal and a new young King would find himself with many new friends seeking favours. The trouble is none of them would be true friends, and none of the favours would be endearing. The moment he stumbled, the moment he made a single mistake they would pounce and tear him asunder mercilessly. They would strip whatever they could from him, and only pause to check and make certain there was nothing else to take.

It simply wouldn't do. Whatever Arl Eamon might say Alistair wasn't ready. He hadn't the necessary skills or temperament. It would be a disaster. Alistair was not ready. Not like himself.

Duran had spent all his life being prepared for command. From the moment he was born he was destined for leadership. He was skilled in the art of diplomacy and intrigue. A fine negotiator at court, and a superb warrior in the provings. He had earned his place as his father's favourite and, in all likelihood, would become the heir apparent. His only one mistake was to have underestimated his youngest brother. But it was a big mistake, and it had very nearly ruined him.

He carried the grace of the Ancestors, of that he was in no doubt. He had been given a second chance and risen to become Warden Commander in Ferelden. He had even managed to restore his honour in Orzammar, and was once more a Prince of that realm. Though he had earlier been betrayed by his brother, he ultimately chose him to become King of Orzammar. It was nothing personal. Harrowmont was an honourable and decent man. But he could never support anyone other than an Aeducan, and thus on family grounds he made his choice.

Bhelen was grateful. He had pledged his army to Duran to fight the blight, restored his rights as a Prince and even adopted Duran's son into his household. Duran's honour had been restored - but he would never be King. Bhelen's scheming had confirmed that. He had reconciled himself to that. That is, until another opportunity presented itself.

While all of the above was true, none of it would be an insurmountable impediment if Alistair truly wanted to be King. If he pressed his claim, if he announced his lineage publicly, then he would have the considerable support of Arl Eamon and even Queen Anora should he pursue a royal marriage. But he did not. He did not want it at all, and was in fact so adamantly against the proposal it bordered on the irrational. The very idea terrified him, and thus it was that Duran proposed his own scheme.

The proposal was straight forward. He would offer marriage to Anora and thus cement an alliance. A royal prince of Orzammar, the Commander of the Grey, and a valiant warrior in his own right would add his own prestige to the monarchy and ensure stability in these uncertain times. Unfortunately it was not straight forward as was hoped.

Arl Eamon had dismissed the idea. Although he acknowledged Duran's noble heritage and his admirable personal qualities, the idea of a Dwarven King was too foreign to countenance. It had never been done before he said. Duran didn't have the connections, nor did he have any blood lineage within Ferelden itself. Most of the nobility claimed descendance from Hafter, the first Ferelden Teyrn, a trait most decidely lacking in Duran. Eamon did not think it would work, Alistair's reluctance not withstanding, he was certain that Alistair could be prevailed upon to do his duty when the time came.

Anora was more diplomatic and, to her credit, did not dismiss the idea out of hand. Though she was still skeptical. She thought there would be resistance within the Landsmeet. Duran had no connection with the realm, he had no relatives to call upon for support, no blood relation with the bannorn and consequently no legitimacy. To top it off he did not worship the Maker and the people would not follow someone of an alien faith. She indicated that Alistair or herself as sole ruler were the better options. She had to know the sole ruler option was not under consideration for she intimated straight after that if a way could be found she would be receptive.

Duran smiled. He had indeed found a way.

Alistair interrupted his thoughts, 'Still though. This must be hard for you. Turning your back on your ancestors and embracing a new god. I want you to know that I'm very grateful.'

'I know.'

The two men considered each other in silence for a time. Alistair, with great reluctance, had consented to his friend making this sacrifice. Although in truth it wasn't much of a sacrifice. It suited Duran's ambitions perfectly and it was stroke of good fortune indeed that Alistair was consenting. Besides, it wasn't as if Duran was a complete skeptic. He had, after all, witnessed the ashes of Andraste cure Arl Eamon of his terrible sickness. Perhaps there was a little truth in all this chantry nonsense.

Leliana, standing not further than five paces away, approached with great care and tact. She had assumed her chantry robes and presented the picture of a devout sister who had never known anything else in the world but the chantry.

'We are ready for you now Alistair,' She said in her pleasant Orlesian accent.

Alistair smiled and nodded to Duran. 'Well I better not keep the Revered Mother waiting. You know how it is with these older chantry types.'

He hesitated for a moment before clasping Duran firmly on the shoulder. 'Thank you for this.'

Duran didn't say anything, he didn't need to, it had all been said before.

Alistair departed, smiling lightly to Leliana as he walked past her into the cathedral.

Leliana smiled back at him before returning her gaze to Duran. She gave him a smile of her own before she continued, 'He really is very grateful. You are doing a very kind thing, and I know the Maker will smile down upon you.'

Duran smiled but offered no response.

Privately he was conflicted with his emotions. Although he didn't necessarily think what he was doing amounted to turning his back on his own culture, on some level he knew things would never be the same. Perhaps he could walk the tight rope that was the middle ground. But he didn't really believe it. What he was doing was likely to be final.

Leliana sensed his hesitation for she gently grabbed him by the shoulders and soothingly reassured him, 'If you approach the altar with an open heart and allow Andraste to fill your spirit the Maker will smile down upon you and embrace you closely. For all of creation is enveloped by the Maker, and his love is boundless and limitless.'

'Thank you' He replied earnestly.

She smiled and released her grip. 'Shall we go? It would not do well to keep Her Grace waiting.'

'Lead the way.'

Duran followed closely behind her and allowed himself to be lead to the Altar. Alistair was already there, positioned to the left of the dais. Leliana took her place on the right. The path was laid before him and he took his position before the Revered Mother.

She was an older woman, wise in appearance and stern in her posture. She held a large silver chalice in both hands and rubbed it absently with her fingers.

Behind her were two sisters and a brother. The brother was chanting in prayerful hymn, his eyes staring ahead of Duran and focusing intently on what lay beyond him. One of the sisters held tightly to a ball of incense, swaying it gently from side to side in rhythm with the chants. The other sister was openly praying to the Maker, her hands clasped tightly together while she sought his blessing for what was to come.

The Revered Mother approached Duran and spoke loudly to him. 'Do you come to seek the spiritual guidance of the Maker?'

'Yes your Grace.' Duran replied.

'Do you seek to cast off your sinful ways and follow Andraste's teachings?'

'Yes your Grace.'

'Then kneel before the Maker's glory and prepare to receive his blessings.'

Duran knelt.

'The Maker is wise, and grants free will to all his creation. He does this so that they may choose, with an open heart, to love and worship his name. So that one earnest man of faith be worth far more than a thousand unbelieving souls.'

She raised her voice, peering at the ceiling high above her. 'Man has not always been wise in their choices. They are proud and sinful creatures in heart, body and soul. The Maker knew this, but he also knew there was goodness within all creation. And thus he sent his bride the glorious Andraste to live amongst the people and provide a path to him.'

'The man before us today desires to follow that path. Is there someone here who can attest to his faith?'

Leliana answered, 'I do your Grace.'

'Does this man acknowledge the sinful and flawed nature of his existence?'

'Yes your Grace, praise be to the maker.'

'Does this man pledge to follow the teachings of Andraste?'

'Yes your Grace, praise be to the maker.'

'Does this man acknowledge the falsehoods of all other gods, embrace the one true god the Maker, as represented by his holy Chantry?'

'Yes your Grace, praise be to the maker.'

'And can anyone else vouch for this man's earnestness?'

Alistair spoke at this point, reciting the lines he had already heard. 'Yes your Grace. So I bear witness to Andraste.'

'So it be said.'

Directing her attention fully to Duran she continued, 'And do you, Duran Aeducan, embrace the teachings of Andraste as represented by the hold chantry?'

'So I do, praise be to the Maker.'

'And do you swear to forsake all other gods as both false and untrue, and acknowledge the maker as the one true god and to honour his bride Andraste?'

'So I do, praise be to the Maker.'

She raised the chalice high above his head, holding it firmly in place. 'Let it be known that Duran Aeducan, son of Endrin Aeducan and Prince of Orzammar, has sworn this solemn oath before the Maker's chantry. That he be held to his word, and entreated to heed his commitment. Let those here who are present bear witness to this declaration, that they may guide him in his path to Andraste.'

She poured the contents of the chalice on to his head. The water streamed through his hair and ran down his beard. It was warm. For some reason that surprised Duran, he had expected it to be as cold as ice – as if it would sense his doubt.

'Let the grace of Andraste wash over you and cleanse your spirit.'

When the chalice was emptied she turned to the altar and replaced it with a smaller gold cup. Approaching Duran she continued, 'Rise Duran Aeducan, and embrace the maker with this cup, the blood of Andraste, shed for your soul.'

Duran unhesitatingly took the chalice and drank.

'May the maker watch over you my child.'

He returned the chalice to her and replied simply, 'Praise be to the maker.'

It was done. There was no going back now. For better or worse he was now an Andrastan and an adherent of the chantry. Although significant in and of itself, it would still not be enough. Now it would be Alistair's turn to fulfill his part of the plan. For he had a Kingdom to win, and he would not be denied what fate had taken from him once before.