Ren's Note:
Newbie alert! I've not written anything before (other than sarcastic blog posts) but this is something that nagged at my mind for some time and wouldn't let go. This series of recollections was how I started to see my Warden's story develop after being inspired by that bit of teasing during Leliana's romance. I embellished and blended some conversations/events to adjust for flow and (perceived) drama. I apologize if my writing style mixes verb tenses oddly; I write (mostly) how I talk and I talk with imperfect sentence structure and run-ons. I also have grand intentions to add illustrations to this story, as in my mind my Warden was a writer and illustrator.

I chose to omit a first name to retain the experience I had in the game (since the PC is pretty much just Grey Warden to everyone), and the dog is referred to only as "the mabari." And, as always, Bioware owns Dragon Age: Origins. I just like it a bunch.

Hope you enjoy it! Or at least don't vomit!

There was a burst of light and then it was over. Leliana had only managed to exchange an apprehensive glance with Alistair before the Warden struck the final blow, ending the Blight after one long year. The shockwave from the death of the Archdemon had thrown her and Alistair off their feet, and her bard instincts kicked in as she recovered and readied her bow. But she needn't have bothered. Even now, black blood pooled below the unholy beast's head and all 50 feet of the dragon sagged to the stone of Fort Drakon's summit. A low mournful roar could be heard in Denerim below as the darkspawn army fractured upon the death of its god.

Leliana sighed in relief and flicked her eyes up the long sword buried in the creature's skull, to the hands of the Warden that held it. A smile crept up her lips as she finally articulated that whisper of hope that had sat at the back of her mind. "We did it." No, he did it. The Grey Warden.

Her Grey Warden.

She had already started toward him, eager to wrap her arms around him and celebrate his victory. Ferelden's victory. He had been so stoic for so long, so severe. He had carried the mantle of the Grey Wardens with a heaviness and quiet gravity. She hoped to finally see the weight lift from his shoulders, his heart. She had only seen brief glimpses over the last year, largely her doing. They had become sincere friends and confidants. Nothing brings people together like the end of the world. And slowly, they had allowed their kind exchanges and frank discussions to become something deeper.

Leliana had always been an open book. It was her ability to disarm with words and smiles that made her such a masterful bard, but also made her a good lay sister for the Chantry. She had a guileless quality that made trusting her seem natural. Easy. It was her gift. And she had even tried her best to keep her gift to herself when she joined the Warden and his strange group of heroes. After all, these were the people who watched her back day in and day out, as she did theirs. To be insincere was not only foolish, but dangerous.

But she could not be quiet forever, and quickly found friendships in all of them.

Well, most of them.

Morrigan had been a mystery from the start, a trait she obviously relished. Leliana's few attempts to get to know Morrigan were shot down with disdain. That woman simply did not seek closeness from anyone. Except the Grey Warden. A closeness Leliana was relieved her Warden did not share.

Alistair, by comparison, had been an instant success. He had a dry, self-deprecating wit and loved a good verbal spar. Their similar religious backgrounds, she a lay sister and he a Templar initiate, gave them plenty of notes to compare. The fact he was handsome and dashing was also not lost on Leliana, but her eyes had wandered to Alistair's brother-in-arms.

The Qunari, Sten, was even more stoic than her Warden. His rich baritone voice always communicated exactly what he wanted and not a word more. He was relatively humorless, except in his exchanges with Morrigan's flirtation where Leliana had been in stitches as he described the preparations Morrigan would have to take in order to be bedded by a Qunari warrior. She spotted glimpses of his softer side, and while one could never claim friendship with a Qunari, Leliana felt she had come pretty close.

Leliana had been naturally drawn to the elder mage, Wynne. She had such a sweet, powerful, motherly quality that made Leliana feel instantly at ease. Though her religious beliefs technically put her at odds with mages, whose magical gifts were considered a danger by the Maker, Leliana still had profound respect and knew Wynne reciprocated.

Zevran in comparison was a shameless flirt and more than once Leliana had to defend her honor against his lascivious remarks. Thankfully his lewdness ended at words. His assassin skills fascinated her, as her Chantry life did him, so they always had ready conversation topics.

Leliana struggled to understand the dwarven berserker, Oghren. One moment he was willing to brave darkspawn hordes to reunite with his estranged wife, the next he was drunk and making terrible innuendos to her and Morrigan. He often rebuffed her few attempts at sympathy by passing gas then giggling like a school boy.

The dwarven golem, Shale, was a delight for Leliana to talk to. While the golem was excessively homicidal with a penchant for murdering pigeons, Shale had an acute interest in the world around her.

Leliana pulled herself out of her thoughts as she closed the distance to the Warden, who still remained gripped to the sword. She opened her mouth to call out to him—

Something was wrong.

It seemed to happen as if in a dream. Leliana pushed off the stone floor in a sprint as she saw him slowly collapse. His grip loosened and she saw his head drop and his armored body tilt backward. She was a second too late to catch him as he fell heavily onto his back. Leliana didn't even remember dropping her bow and shaking off her quiver of arrows, she felt outside her body as she dropped to her knees next to him and reached for his head.

No.

She had had this nightmare before after seeing him gravely injured. He was a warrior, so it was his duty to wade into the fray first. To make sure all enemies were focused on him so that she and their companions could pick off individuals in precision strikes. He bore the brunt of sword strikes, burning arrows and malevolent spells so that the others might fight in safety. And he was skilled at shouting and taunting any clever enemies who sought to flank the rest of the team. Leliana had lost count of how many arrows he had pulled out of flesh and armor or how many poultices had been slapped on his flesh to keep him standing for a few minutes more. After all he had suffered and survived, he more than anyone deserved to live.

No!

Leliana's breath had stopped. She saw his carelessly handsome face struggle for breath, the color draining to a sickly pallor, the light blue eyes lose focus. She cradled his head and neck into her lap, her right hand stroking his cheek. She couldn't even speak, for every fiber of her being was devoted to willing life back into his body.

He took 2 more shallow breaths, and his eyes suddenly sharply focused on hers and the corners of his mouth turned up for a peaceful smile. She heard the breath slowly exhale once more, and felt his body tighten for a moment, then slump to the ground. Still.

From the quieting din of fighting in the streets below, one voice could be heard. The battle stilled as Denerim listened to the mournful bay of the Grey Warden's faithful mabari.