Author's Note: This story picks up immediately after the events in Fevered Love, where Alistair caught Varia kissing her old flame, Cullen. This also marks the first time I've ever written of Varia and Alistair's son, Duncan. For those who may be wondering: In my headcanon, Zevran and Varia's fathers were cousins, making the two of them second cousins - and he's more or less little Duncan's godfather.

Fated Love

For the first time ever, Varia actually felt fear toward her husband.

He had walked up to her in the chapel without saying a word, then grabbed her hand and roughly dragged her out of there and to the first empty room he could find. Once they were alone, he slammed the door shut and began pacing rapidly back and forth while refusing to look at her.

"You kissed him," he accused her.

"He kissed me first," she pointed out to him.

"You kissed him back!" he yelled, advancing on her and trapping her with her back against one of the stone walls. "You could have pushed him away, slapped him, anything other than that, but you didn't!"

"Alistair, I'm sorry," she apologized, reaching up to touch his face. He swatted her hand away and resumed his pacing.

"You're my wife. He didn't want you – or have you forgotten all about that?"

"I have never forgotten what he did and said that day, Alistair," she told him, her voice shaking. She had been expecting him to be sullen, to beg her to tell him that he was her only love, but instead the jealousy had driven him into a rage. It was especially frightening because he was always so jovial, cracking jokes even in the face of adversity. All of that humor she so loved was gone, now.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't love him," he demanded, advancing on her once more. His hazel eyes locked upon her stormy gaze, searching for the answer she knew he feared was lying inside her heart.

"I... can't," Varia admitted, her voice breaking as tears began to run freely down her face. "I don't expect you to understand, but I can't completely stop loving him – a part of me always will. I'll always have the memories of the good times he and I had, but-"

"Stop," Alistair said quietly, cutting her off. "You don't need to say any more."

Varia watched helplessly as he left the room, and for the second time in her life she felt her heart breaking over him. She tried to keep the sound of her crying quiet, in order to keep any of the others who might happen by from hearing her, but the thought that she had possibly ruined the love of her life with her own stupid mistake was too much to bear. Her legs gave out under her and she fell to her knees as the first sobs escaped her, and soon she was too lost in her own despair to notice the figure watching her from the doorway.

Alistair mercilessly hacked away at one of the practice dummies in the courtyard, glad that the other Wardens had already finished with their daily training exercises before he had arrived seeking a way to blow off some steam. He would have hated to have them see him like this, though considering the amount of physical exertion he was putting forth, they likely would have mistaken the tears rolling down his cheeks for sweat.

He was frustrated and furious. But not at Varia. He'd been angry more with Cullen than with her, but he'd blamed her for what he'd seen because Cullen was too bloody crazed from the effects of lyrium withdrawal to really be held accountable for his actions. So he'd taken his anger out on the woman he loved more than life itself. Seeing Varia return that kiss the templar had given her – even though she'd only done so for a few seconds before pulling away from him – had been like a punch in the gut. The two of them had always been in competition while they were at the Denerim chantry together, and when he learned that Cullen was the man Varia's heart had belonged to at the Circle it had felt like a slap to the face. To think, he could have been the one who ended up there with her instead of the farmer's son from Amaranthine. Then again, if he had...

His sword arm fell limply at his side, his breath coming out in shallow, ragged gasps. He had exhausted all of his pent-up frustration and looking at the pitiful remains of the practice dummy in front of him he was suddenly very glad that he'd walked away from Varia when he did. He knew he would never be able to raise a hand to her in anger, but he had said more than enough to hurt her. He wondered if it had been too much. Again he felt the anger beginning to rise, and he suddenly realized he was more angry with himself than either of them.

It had been the same ever since he was a child and Eamon cast him off at his wife's bidding. Everywhere he went, everyone he met... he had always been searching for something: whole-hearted acceptance. Duncan had given him the acceptance he'd craved, and he'd looked up to the man like a father, but it still hadn't been enough. After all, the former Warden-Commander of Ferelden had known the secret about his lineage and kept him out of harm's way as much as possible. It wasn't until years after the man's death that Alistair had learned – from his real mother – that Duncan had been watching out for him his entire life at the request of her and his father.

Duncan had also been the one responsible for bringing him and his beloved Varia together. They never had the opportunity to ask him, but once they had put all the pieces together and figured out that he had likely seen them together that one afternoon they'd ridden Eamon's favorite horse through the field behind the castle, they realized that perhaps he'd had an ulterior motive for recruiting them both into the Wardens aside from bolstering the ranks with talented fighters. Knowing Duncan's uncanny ability to notice things others didn't, he'd probably seen some sort of connection starting to form between them despite their young age and the briefness of their time together before she was taken to the Circle and he was sent to the Chantry.

"Papa?"

Alistair turned his head and saw their son – who they had named after the very man he had just been thinking about – standing several feet away with an expression of deep sadness on his face. He leaned his sword against what was left of the training dummy and went to the boy, smoothing a hand over his light brown hair as he knelt in front of him.

"What's wrong, Duncan?" he asked, looking into the child's eyes, which were so much like his mother's had been before she killed the Archdemon – a deep grey color with flecks of silver throughout.

"Why is Mama crying?"

Alistair sucked in a sharp breath, his face contorting in shame. He had known his words likely hurt her, but being reminded of it by his own son made it all that much worse. He was only five years old, and far too young to understand the complicated ways adult relationships worked. To him, all he knew was that his mother was sad.

"Mama and I had a fight," Alistair explained, vainly attempting to straighten up the mop of hair on the boy's head. He'd taken to wearing it the way Zevran wore his, due to the way he idolized his 'Uncle Zev' – much to Alistair's chagrin.

"That's why you're crying, too?"

Alistair chuckled a bit, shaking his head in wonder at his son's natural ability to pick up on even the slightest details.

"Are you and Mama going to not be together any more?" Duncan asked quietly, and the look on his face broke Alistair's heart. The boy loved both of his parents just as they adored him, but he'd heard the stories of their lives and – to a certain extent – of Zevran's life growing up in Antiva. He was smart for his age, and he understood how lucky he was to have a family and people who loved and cared about him. The thought that he might lose one of his parents was no doubt the cause of the sadness in his eyes.

"No, we're not," Alistair assured him. "Your mother and I... we had an argument, that's all. Papa said some things he didn't mean, things that hurt Mama's feelings. That's why we're both crying."

"You should go tell her sorry," Duncan suggested. "Give her some flowers. Mama loves flowers."

A grin slowly spread upon Alistair's face as an idea formed in his mind. "You know, that's a wonderful idea."

Duncan smiled at his father, his eyes sparkling. Alistair hugged him tightly and placed a kiss on his forehead, then stood and took his hand. Together they walked to the keep's kitchens and Alistair let Duncan have some freshly-baked cookies one of the servants had made. He then asked the maid to watch over his son for the remainder of the day and requested that the cook have his and his wife's evening meals sent to their room – to which she responded with a cheeky grin, knowing full well why the commanders would not be joining the rest of the Wardens for dinner.

Alistair simply hoped his plan would work. He stopped Nathaniel in the hallway on his way back to where he had left her and asked if he knew where she was. The other man glowered at him and sharply answered that she had gone to lie down for a bit, then turned on his heel and walked away. Alistair's jaw clenched a bit at the harsh treatment. Usually the two of them got along just fine but, as a Warden, the son of Rendon Howe had become one of his wife's most staunch supporters. She was like a sister and a mother to all of them, even though she was younger than the majority of the men in her command. So when someone hurt her in any way, they all took it personally – even if that someone happened to be her husband.

He had nearly reached the room he shared with Varia when he was suddenly grabbed from behind and thrown up against the wall. He brought up his hands to keep his face from smacking against the stone, and winced when he found a very sharp dagger pressed to his throat.

"You, my friend, have some serious explaining to do," Zevran hissed in his ear, the anger in his voice causing his Antivan accent to come out thicker than usual. "What have you done to my darling cousin?"

"Zevran, please... Just let up and I'll tell you everything," Alistair pleaded, holding up his hands away from the wall in a gesture of surrender.

"Fine," Zevran said, lowering the dagger to his side and taking up a spot next to him on the wall. "But make it quick."

"Cullen kissed her," Alistair told him, his forehead still pressed to the wall. "She kissed him back. I... lost my temper. I accused her of wanting him instead of me. I stormed off. That about sums it up."

"Did you even give her a chance to speak for her side of things?"

Alistair turned his head and found the assassin's golden eyes narrowed accusingly at him. With a heavy sigh, he turned back to the wall and closed his eyes.

"I expected as much," Zevran remarked, stepping closer to him and resting a hand upon his shoulder. "You know, I thought you had gotten over this whole... insecurity thing."

"She admitted she still loves him," Alistair said.

"Of course she does. She probably always will. Just as I shall always love my poor Rinna." Zevran sighed, closing his eyes briefly to shove back the wave of sadness the memories of his first love had a habit of bringing up. "Think of it this way: If she had died killing that Archdemon, would you have ever been able to completely stop loving her?"

"No," Alistair replied, a shudder running through his body. He thought he had lost her, at first, when they found her after she'd been thrown in the blast caused by the Archdemon's death. She had been barely breathing, with most of her bones broken, and Alistair had remained at her bedside night and day, praying to the Maker to spare her.

"Just as you would not have been able to stop loving her, she cannot simply stop loving Cullen. That does not, however, mean that she is in love with him any longer."

"There's a difference?"

Zevran laughed. "Oh, there is a big difference, Alistair. You can most assuredly love someone without being in love with them. I love Varia, but I'm not in love with her. The rest of your Wardens, they all love her, too. But none of them are in love with her. You are. You hold her and cherish her and love her tenderly all through the night-"

"Okay, I get it," Alistair said firmly, waving his hands in front of him before Zevran could go into more details about the intimate things he did with his wife that no other man had ever done. It had been creepy enough when the assassin had given him tips before they knew he was Varia's cousin... now, it just seemed wrong on so many levels for Zevran to be discussing things on the matter of his intimate relationship with Varia with him.

"What will you do now, I wonder?" Zevran mused, thoughtfully stroking his chin. "You two have been fighting an awful lot lately, what with her first deciding to spare Anders even after he – I'm sorry – that spirit possessing him tried to kill her. And now that you have more or less accused her of wanting to take another man to her bed over you... That is quite a little hole you have dug yourself into."

"I am aware of that, Zevran," Alistair remarked through clenched teeth, wishing he could punch the smug look off his face without risking further ire from his wife.

"Merely telling her you are sorry may not be enough. Perhaps you should try-"

"I really don't want to hear any suggestions you might have for how I should handle this situation," Alistair cut him off, then brushed him aside and stepped toward the door of the room he and Varia shared. Zevran merely chuckled and wandered off down the hall.

"I shall go amuse little Duncan until you are finished 'apologizing' to her," he called back over his shoulder.

"You better not teach him to pick locks, Zevran!" Alistair yelled after him, but the other man simply waved off his concern.

Returning his attention to the task at hand, he took a deep breath and slowly turned the doorknob before quietly pushing the door open. Varia was lying on the bed, facing the far wall of the room, and even from a distance Alistair could tell she was asleep from the steady way the sounds of her breath softly filled the room. He closed the door behind him and slowly rounded the bed, his eyes never leaving her. She was slightly curled up, holding the hand bearing her wedding ring almost protectively to her chest, and as soon as he caught sight of her face – red and tear-streaked – he knew she had cried herself to sleep.

For a moment, part of him wondered if she had been so worked up over what he had said because a part of her thought he was right. He quickly pushed that idea out of his mind, however, when he looked to the bedside table and saw the vase which held that single red rose he had given her when he first confessed his feelings to her all those years ago. Nearly nine years had gone by since then, and it was still as perfect and whole as it had been he day he'd picked it in Lothering. It had served as a symbol of their undying love for one another and had even been the inspiration for the ring he'd commissioned to give her the day he took her as his wife. Now, he hoped it would be enough to help put an end to this nightmare he had thrown himself into.

He plucked the rose from its vase and carefully sat on the side of the bed so as not to wake her, then simply watched her for a moment longer. She was every bit as beautiful as she had been the day he met her as Ostagar. Each tiny line which had formed upon her face since then was a treasure trove of memories for him. The worry lines were from her fretting over the safety and well-being of her Wardens whenever she sent them out on a mission, especially those of an 'unknown origin,' as well as her fears about their son's safety and anonymity. The tiny creases around her mouth had resulted from the times he had made her laugh and smile with his antics and jokes – and, occasionally, the others managed to do the same. Each and every mark was a part of the story of their lives together... a story he cherished and never wanted to end. Especially not like this.

He gently touched the rose to her cheek as she slept, delicately brushing the soft petals across her skin before repeating the action upon her other cheek. She began to stir, and when he finally brushed the rose over her full lips she let out a contented sigh as her eyes slowly fluttered open to look up at him.

"I'm sorry," he simply said, holding the rose out to her as a peace offering. Varia remained silent as she pulled herself up into a sitting position on the bed, then she reached out and took the rose from him. Alistair watched her carefully trace the edges of the petals with her fingertips before bringing the flower to her nose and breathing in the heady scent which still lingered upon it.

"Do you know what hurt more than your accusation, Alistair?" she asked, her faintly-glowing silver eyes still focused on the flower in her hands. "The fact that you could still think, even after all these years, that I would ever want a man other than you."

Alistair remained quiet, remembering that it had been his earlier failure to allow her to speak for herself which had caused them both to experience an entire afternoon full of pain. She needed to say this, and he needed to let her say it because he needed to hear her say it. She shifted her position on the bed until she was seated on her knees directly in front of him, and she reached up with one hand to turn his face toward hers in order to address him properly.

"Cullen was the first man I gave my heart to, and nothing can ever change those feelings. Not even the way he cast me aside will make me completely not love him. But the love I feel for him is far different from the love I feel for you," she explained, gently brushing her fingers back through his hair. "He's a dear friend, Alistair. I care about him, as much as I care about Nathaniel or Roland or Zevran or any of the others. To see him in as much pain as he's in... it hurts. All I want to do is help him. I never expected he would kiss me like that, and I'm sorry I didn't push him away as soon as it happened. But the fact of the matter is that he and I were together, once... and when he kissed me there was this little spark of familiarity and I simply responded to that without thinking. It was like a reflex. But an instant later I realized what I was doing and I felt so incredibly guilty. I was planning on telling you even before I knew you had seen it all, and... I... I was scared, Alistair. I was afraid you'd think of it all the wrong way and I'd lose you."

Alistair placed a finger to her lips, silencing her before she could speak another word, and waited until she met his eyes before taking his own turn to speak.

"You know I've always been jealous of him for being the first man in your life. I'm not proud of that," he admitted, shifting a bit uncomfortably. "And people always say that your first love is your greatest and the one you never forget. Which is why, when I saw you kiss him back, I snapped. I was just so scared that I was going to lose you, Varia, and I couldn't bear having to watch you walk away from me again. So I suppose somewhere in my subconscious I got this twisted idea that it would be better if I pushed you away before you could do the same to me. I acted without really thinking, and I hurt you. Maker... I never meant to hurt you, love. You know that, right?"

"I know," Varia told him, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "And they're right, you know – your first love is the greatest. But Cullen wasn't truly my first love. You were, all along."

Alistair let out a quiet chuckle. "You think you were in love with me since you were a child?"

"I'm sure I was in love with you long before I knew what being in love meant," she replied, resting her head against his shoulder. "I used to dream about you, nearly every night. Of course, I didn't know it was you I was dreaming of back then. All I knew was that there was a prince out there who I adored with all my little heart."

"I'm not a prince any more, though," Alistair pointed out in a teasing voice, nipping at one of her ears and causing a shudder to run down her spine.

"You're still my prince," Varia told him, her voice coming out a bit breathlessly as she began kissing his neck. "You gave me happiness in one of the darkest times of my life. You saved me from what would have been a horrible punishment. Then, years later, you did it all over again – time and time again. You loved me, you gave me everything, gave up everything you could have been for me... You've given me so much that I thought I never deserved because of who I am – what I am."

"Who you are," Alistair told her, bracing his arms around her and shifting their positions in order to lie her back down on the bed, "is one of the most talented and respected women in all of Thedas: The Hero of Ferelden, and Commander of the Grey. What you are is my beautiful wife, the mother of my cherished son, and the love of my life who I would die for in an instant."

"Please don't say that," Varia whispered, closing her eyes to keep more tears from falling. "With what's going on right now, that's a possibility I really don't want to entertain."

"Sorry, love," Alistair apologized, kissing the corner of her eye and trailing his kisses down along her cheek and jaw. "But you do realize that if anyone tries to get to you or Duncan, they will first have to go through me."

"That doesn't mean I want to think about you actually doing it," she admonished him, then drew in a sharp gasp when he slid his hand into the top of her robes to palm her breast.

"Then don't think," he told her in a husky whisper before kissing her passionately. Varia returned the kiss, wrapping her arms around him, and Alistair carefully set the rose back on the bedside table before turning his attention fully to the task of showing his wife just how much he loved her.

"See?" Zevran whispered to Duncan from their spot just outside his parents' room, where they were peering through a tiny gap between the door and its frame. "I told you. Everything is going to be just fine between your mother and father."

"I knew the magic flower would work," the boy told his idol, grinning up at him.

"That you did," Zevran acknowledged with a chuckle, steering the boy away from the rapidly-escalating scene of intimacy between his parents and silently closing the door to the room. "Now, let us give them some time alone to properly make up, shall we?"