Summary: The world knows of Alistair, Zevran, Leliana, and Morrigan. But what of those who came before...?

Disclaimer: Repeat after me: I own zilch.

Queen's Quornor: After much time spent in Kirkwall and its surrounding environs, I could not help returning to Ferelden to try and tie up some plot lines between the two games, to affirm some suspicions I have about the third installment. That was when it hit me: many of the Wardens, especially the females, had lovers or potential lifemates before they came into contact with Duncan. Yet nobody seems to really acknowledge that the Warden had feelings for them. So I have returned to my beloved italicized monologues, in order to explore the relationship between these women and the men they lost, their first loves.

Tamlen

It is difficult to believe that this is really him. This twisted, tormented mockery of an elf cannot possibly be my clan-mate. Were it not for the burn of the gouges across my middle, the hot blood splashed over my body, I would think this merely a nightmare, a cruel reprieve from visions of the Archdemon.

But it is reality.

And this is all that remains of Tamlen.

I kneel in the torn grass beside him, letting my fingers stroke the air above him. The body is hairless and dark, nearly all hardened carapace and slick corruption. So unlike the man I knew, with his silken crop of golden hair and shining eyes. There is no softness here, no trace of the tattoos he wore so proudly. Can tattoos be eaten by the sickness? Or is his flesh so dark I am merely unable to detect them? The hands, once graceful and deft enough to untangle the worst of snarls from a child's hair without sacrificing even one strand, clutch at the earth in death, clawing deep furrows with the talons that ruptured his delicate fingertips. He begged me to kill him, yet it seems a part of his tainted body wishes to hold onto life by any means possible.

So unlike him, and at the same time so much akin that my heart aches. This monster, this shriek, deserved so much better than an execution in the mud. He should never have been in this position. Creators, this should never have happened!

Tamlen was so much more than my clan-mate. When we were young, chasing about the camp and learning at Hahren Paivel's feet, he was my brother, joining me in mischief yet defending me when punishment loomed. Older, he became my best friend, a true confidante who dried my tears and listened when I needed to rage about my parents, dead before memory formed. He was strong when he needed to be, but retained a kind of gentleness where I was concerned. I admired his curiosity about our history, and it impressed me how protective he could be of the clan. He had so many qualities which drew my attention. Fenerel was more handsome, Junar the better hunter, Chandon possessed of the most grace and charm. But Tamlen was so alive compared to the others, and of them all he was the one who understood me best.

I do not remember when he stole my heart. Perhaps it was always his.

Why did we wait to join? We were both acknowledged hunters, successful in providing meat and furs to the clan. True, I was beginning to learn Master Illen's craft, but there is no rule which states an apprentice must be unwed. Was it that we were afraid? Our relationship was something of an open secret - the clan knew we were close, but not that we had already given ourselves to one another - and nobody expressed disapproval of our obvious affection. I think most of the clan would have been thrilled that the orphan daughter of their previous Keeper was joined to her dearest friend from childhood. I know Ashalle would have sung her joy so even our lost gods could hear.

I think Tamlen was entertaining a proposal. He was a little surprised when I shirked my time with Master Illen to go hunting with him that afternoon, and he was evasive when I inquired as to his chosen prey. But his pleasure at being near me was obvious enough, even if we intended to hunt rather than play. In all honesty, I believe his thoughts were less on elusive quarry than finding a secluded place to speak with me. Had we not come across those shemlen, would he have asked for my hand that day in the forest?

I cannot help but think it so.

Before tonight, I thought I had moved on. I have a new lover to share my bedroll, and every spare moment is spent cobbling together an army to overthrow Loghain and combat a fallen god as corrupted as the husk before me. Alistair shares many qualities with Tamlen, which could explain in part my attraction to him. Tamlen would not approve of me laying with a shem, but perhaps I can fool myself into believing that he would want me to love, not waste my remaining years consumned with grief.

Alistair is the reason I can face the world with a smile. But a part of me went with Tamlen the day he vanished into that vile mirror.

He was the one. I know he was. So did he.

That was why I could strike him down. My Tamlen was already gone. His body was merely a monster, despite the tattered vestiges of the man I loved. The only mercy I could offer was the edge of my blade.

I can keep telling myself that. I can whisper it to my quickling lover as he kneels behind me, enfolding me in a comforting embrace with his lips in my hair. I can scream it to the stars twinkling coldly overhead, bathing us all in silvery radiance.

But the knowing does not ease the ache which has laid claim to my innards. It does not prevent the breaking of my heart. It cannot stop the tears gliding unchecked down my cheeks.

This is not my Tamlen, I know that.

Perhaps I am mourning a future that could never be.