Hello folks. This is a sort of prologue to a story I've been kicking around in my head for a while. I hope you like it enough to come back and check it out when there's more to it. Any reviews you want to leave are always appreciated as well. Anyway, here it is. Thanks for reading.

*Dragon Age belongs to Bioware and Electronic Arts*

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Aedan Cousland stood atop the ramparts, staring silently out at his arling. The sun was slowly peaking into view from the east, heralding the arrival of a new day. He liked to come out to the ramparts at this time. It was peaceful now, before the bustle and commotion of the day ruined what little serenity his duties allowed him. He had came out here and sent the pair of guards inside, allowing them to end their night watchmen duties a few minutes early. He would stand on the ramparts, lost in his thoughts, until the guards' relief reported for their shifts. He sighed heavily. The job was taking its toll on him, but he himself was the only person he could fully trust with its care.

Things had changed so much. The world seemed so very different than it had just a few short years ago. Back when things had been so much simpler, and yet so much more complicated. As sick as it made him feel to acknowledge it, the war had given him purpose. Given him value. There was a threat to the safety of his land and his people, and he had mustered armies to drive it back underground. The fight had defined him, given him a singular purpose. But the darkspawn hadn't been seen in years, Ferelden and Orlais were in the midst of a flourishing new alliance, and Aedan Cousland was useless. In a world without war, what became of the warriors?

In his case, they were given tiny arlings in the wind-blasted north of Ferelden where they spent their days meting out justice to arrogant minor nobles and farmers. They sat in a chair and listened to endless appeals, requests, and trivial, insignificant disputes and sent their former travelling companions out to do the real work. They did the jobs that he once would have relished himself. They dealt with bandits, highwaymen, and even the odd abomination, while he did nothing. Even so, he couldn't step down. He told himself that it was because there was no telling when a new threat might arise that only he could handle, told himself that Amaranthine needed him, but the simple truth was that he couldn't step down because he was frightened. Frightened of where his life would take him without even the Wardens.

He was connected. He had powerful friends in Denerim, in Highever, in Redcliff…he could live anywhere in Ferelden, and live very comfortably. But then he would be a relic even more surely than he was now. He glanced down at himself. His fine linen attire in particular. Aedan Cousland was going soft. He hadn't raised a sword for anything other than training in nearly three years. He often toyed with the idea of taking an expedition down to the Deep Roads in search of adventure, but the idea was innately selfish and something he could never seriously consider.

Things were so different. Cousland had long ago resigned himself to the fate of all Grey Wardens; to ultimately walk the Deep Roads alone as the taint within his blood drove him ever closer to madness. But even that absolute had been altered. The ancient blood mage, Avernus, had found great success in his research in the past year and a half, and had prepared a serum that would allow the Wardens to master their taint; to reap the benefits while denying the inevitability of madness and death. The old mage had succeeded in his life's work after all. Aedan almost pitied the old man, in a way. He could relate to being stripped of purpose. Avernus was presently in Weisshaupt presenting his findings to the grandmaster of the order. Nathaniel Howe had gone with him, along with his wife Velanna. They wouldn't be back for another six months.

Oghren still served as Aedan's right hand; he was one of the only holdouts from the old group. The dwarf was as uncouth and uncivilized as ever, but Cousland couldn't imagine life without the grimy little bastard. In many ways, the dwarf reminded him of himself. Oghren knew what it was to be a relic in a world that had moved on.

Zevran had returned to Antiva and apparently staged a coup, taking over the Crows. Cousland applauded the move; at least the assassin was doing what he was good at. Would that he had such purpose.

Alistair was king, of course, and, judging by his last letter, was, to Aedan's surprise, very happy in his marriage to Anora. Apparently the woman had a softer side to her that had revealed itself over time. From the sound of it, the two were very much in love. Their first child, a bright lad named Duncan, was nearing the age of four, and another was on the way. Loghain and Alistair were still not fond of one another, but the letter named the old Warden, who had visited from his post in Orlais, as an extremely doting grandfather.

Fergus watched over Highever as best he could, but he had never really been the same since that fateful night almost a decade ago. He had never remarried, and had no heirs. His health was poor as well. Becoming teyrn of Highever would certainly be an upward movement in station from arl of Amaranthine, but Aedan had no desire to claim the position from the bones of his long-suffering big brother. He prayed for Fergus every night.

Wynne had passed away eight years ago, the spirit who had saved her from death in the Circle Tower finally depleted. Four years ago, Aedan's faithful hound had died. It had been a devastating loss for the man. He hadn't heard from Sten in many years, since Alistair's coronation and the victory party after the archdemon's defeat.

Sigrun and Anders were dead, killed seven years ago in a battle with a minor noble who had rallied together a band of brigands and foolishly attempted to lay siege to the Vigil. His attack never had a chance of succeeding; there were very few casualties among Aedan's people, but the cost of two dear friends had been much too high.

Aedan Cousland had seen a lot of good friends die, and the world was a worse place for their loss. He stared out at the arling of Amaranthine, deep in thought. He thought about the way things had been. He thought about those times long past, when the world had been simple. When he and his friends and united under a common banner and thrown themselves into hell for the good of Thedas. They had all survived that, only to be slowly whittled down by the most dangerous foe of all: time.

His birthday had been yesterday; there had been little by way of festivities, and this was largely because Aedan's friends had mostly either moved on or died. It had gotten him thinking about how very different things were these days.

Aedan felt a presence behind him and turned. It was his wife.

"Darling?" Leliana said earnestly, her voice still sleepy. "Are you alright? I woke up and you were gone." She had come out in her nightgown, barefoot and without makeup. Her hair was a mess. Aedan had never seen anything as beautiful as this woman.

"Yes, my love. I'm alright. I was just thinking. About everything. I miss them, Leliana. I miss them all. Wynne. Anders. Sigrun. My mabari. Even Sten, grim, gruff Sten. Even Loghain. We've lost so much," he said, teardrops sliding down his cheeks.

Leliana came to him, wrapping her arms around him in a gigantic hug, holding him close. "Darling, I know how you must be feeling. I feel it too, some nights. But I take solace in the certainty that whatever trials we must face, we will face them together."

He held her. "I love you, Leliana," he said softly. "I've always loved you. And I always will. No matter what we lose."

"And I you. I didn't expect to find you in such a dark mood! But I've some important news that might cheer you up. You see, in about eight months, it seems we'll be gaining something very special," Leliana said with a short giggle.

Cousland froze, unsure if he'd heard her correctly. "Wait," he said, piecing it together in his mind. "Are you saying…?"

"Yes," Leliana said, kissing him hard on the mouth. "We're going to have a child. Our first child."

He returned the kiss, elated. However, a little voice in the back of his mind saw fit to rain on his parade. It's not your first, it seemed to say. For almost a decade ago, he had conceived another. He'd never been able to tell his beloved Leliana about the horrid infidelity he'd committed in order to get the chance to make a life with her. He'd never told her about what he'd done with Morrigan.

Aedan Cousland hugged his wife tenderly, though the expression he wore as he looked past her shoulder was a deeply ambivalent one.