Four long years after the Blight ended, with Riordan successfully ending the life of the arch demon, Alistair rules as king of Ferelden alongside his queen Anora. His fellow Grey Warden, a Dalish elf named Saóirsè, travels the land finding new recruits and slowly re-building the ranks of Wardens. Their paths have not crossed for three and a half years when Saóirsè broke off contact, but that's about to change...

Chapter One

Alistair found it was taking longer and longer to get himself up and dressed in the morning. He sat on the edge of his vast bed, wearing nothing but his nightshirt and his mothers pendant, facing the window with its exquisite views over the golden countryside of Ferelden and just stared at the streaks of colour over the horizon. His clothes were laid out by the armoire, the finest velvets and silks, but he made no move to dress himself. He longed for the worn leather straps and buckles and the cool feeling of steel against his body. His Drake scale armour had not been donned for years now. Duncans shield was mounted above the window as a memorial to both that Grey Warden and the one who had found the shield and presented it as a gift to Alistair. Anora hated the sight of it. She hated a lot of things these days.

Alistair had not taken the news well six months into his reign as king that he would have to marry her. There was, it seemed, no more suitable match and the worry that he might not produce an heir due to his tainted blood and shortened lifespan (just a few of the perks of being a Grey Warden) made the nobles distinctly uneasy. And so a marriage of convenience had arisen. Anora was much quicker to come around to the idea than Alistair had been. He presumed that six months locked in the tower might have had something to do with it. That and the fact that she was ruthlessly ambitious. Alistair could not help but be reminded of Orzammar when he thought of their union; of the three sons of King Endrin Aeducan particularly Bhelen. The man had slaughtered his own brother and framed his second brother for the murder purely to get his rear end on the throne. Anora wanted the throne of Ferelden so badly and Alistair was in her way. Should an heir be produced Alistair could not help but worry what kind of child this would be, what drive and cruel aspirations Anora might impart on the child. He did not doubt that her desperation for a child rested on this goal. And desperate she truly was. Ever month he watched her face grow more drawn and more pinched so that she hardly resembled the beauty she had been when her father was regent for those short months. Her father who had died at Alistairs hands. He snorted—he could not blame her for hating him really. When they lay together in a room separate from either of their sleeping quarters at Anoras request, there was no love there and scarcely even like. Alistair performed his function just as he performed any other kingly duty—with a blank face and a mind that was elsewhere.

There had been one time, only a few months ago, where he had allowed his mind to wander onto the face of another Warden. He did not invite her into his mind, but suddenly there she was, Saóirsè, the flame haired Dalish elf he had met at Ostagar and whose Joining he had supervised. She was feisty and fierce and so, so beautiful it had made him ache to look upon her, let alone form any coherent sentences. He had gladly followed her on their quest to gather armies for the final battle against the arch demon and had watched her revel in that role. He saw how she spared anyone she could, from the blood mage who had poisoned Eamon, to the Antivan assassin sent to kill her. She only drew her blades against those who could not be reasoned with and when she did it was a sight to behold. Alistair was never more at home than when he had a sword and a shield in his hand but to watched Saóirsè made him look like a bumbling fool. She took to every battle, every small skirmish as though it was a dance and she whirled and ducked and spun throughout, those blades glinting as they spilled darkspawn blood. She was a Goddess of war with grace and compassion and that made people want to follow her. And when Alistair confessed his love for her, a love than ran far deeper than a love for any leader he had only expected to be rebuffed, but kindly. He had had to remember to breathe when she did not gently turn him down but instead took his hand and gave him her heart, body and soul.

That night with Anora, when Saóirsè came uninvited into Alistairs mind and driven him half mad. Anoras eyes when they parted were confused; a little fear and a little hope crossed over her face. She even granted him a small smile and held her crossed fingers up before leaving the room. Alistair could barely move for shaking. He knew Anora believed there had been something different about that experience and she pinned all her hopes on a child from that union. Her disappointed, therefore, was so much greater that it was felt throughout the entire palace.

Saóirsè had been Alistairs only love and he regretted every second he spent away from her, made all the more terrible to endure because it was he who had sent her away. Angry at her for pushing his name forward at the Landsmeet and confused by her reluctance to rip Loghain limb from limb and bewildered by the fact that she seemed to have suddenly developed a coldness towards him he spoke to her unhappily afterwards.

"So that's it then?" I said. Saóirsè seemed to brace herself at my words, all of our companions standing uneasily around us. "I'm to be king."

"Are you angry?" She asked without any feeling behind the words.

"Well, I'm not thrilled at the prospect." I said sarcastically, then sighed. "But duty is duty and I would rather not see any Mac Tir on the throne. I do not trust Anora any more than I trusted her snake of a father."

I saw Morrigan raise an eyebrow out of the corner of my eye and turned my back on her. I leaned towards Saóirsè and saw Leliana tense. I gritted my teeth. They were all here for her, a fact which made me both warm to them and despise them in equal measures. "Can we talk...in private?"

She nodded wearily and we left to find a small room off the main hall.

She stood and faced me although I know she did not have a clue what I was about to say—her reaction proved as much.

"I'm sorry I'm being hard on you." I said. "You are only doing what you think is best...and so am I."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. I breathed out heavily.

"This thing between us..." I started and saw her face fall. "It can't go on any longer. We have to end it."

For a long while she said nothing and made no move to alter her position of standing before me with her arms crossed over her chest. So much smaller than me yet she had always seemed like a giant for all her confidence and bravery. Now she was just as tiny as any other elf.

"Can I ask why?"

"If I am to be king, and it would seem I am," I explained. "Then I have certain duties that need tending to. They're going to want an heir otherwise the country will be in no better state of civil rest than it was when Cailan died. Without an heir, when I die, the country will be ripped apart again."

"Orzammer proves you wrong." She said quietly. "I did not see you fighting to put Bhelen on the throne because of his royal blood. We agreed that Lord Harrowmont was a better candidate."

"Yes, but we aren't dwarves." I said running my hand over my face. "The nobles will never stand for it."

"So why can't I...we..." she tailed off showing uncharacteristic cowardliness. I could understand that.

"For Grey Wardens to produce a child..." I said somberly." Well, for one to conceive one is a difficulty, but for two? A damn miracle."

Her eyes grew dark as they narrowed at me. "So I'm not good enough? Because I'm Dalish and because I'm a Grey Warden? Two things I am proud of, yet they are your reason for ending this?"

I swallowed. "Yes." I said.

She looked away and I allowed myself a brief moment to let the mask fall and to let the pain stab at me like I deserved. Then she whirled on me and thrust her fist against my jaw. For all her stature she threw her entire weight into that punch and my head snapped back and I fell against the wall. She grabbed her fist with her other hand—she had punched with a closed fist that was how angry she was. Her face was a picture of pain, but she hid it well. My jaw and the back of my head both throbbed but I did not complain. It was nice to have some external pain to distract from my internal anguish.

"You knew this was going to happen." Saóirsè choked out. "You knew that it would likely come to this, to your claiming the throne. And so you knew we never had a future. And yet you pursued me, you told me you loved me and you lay with me time and time again." Tears sprang to her eyes but she ignored them and so I did, too. "All that bluff, all that awkwardness...was it real? Was I truly the first or am I merely one in a long line of conquests?"

My face clouded. "No, of course not. You were the first, the only. Not only in my bed, but in my heart also."

She scoffed. "How can I believe a thing you say?" Her voice was no more than a whisper. "How can I trust you? You've broken my heart."

My own broke then at her words, but it was me who broke them both. She handed me back my heart and I returned the pieces of hers and I wanted to die right that moment. Had the arch demon been there I would have thrown myself at it to end the suffering.

But nothing that dramatic happened. Saóirsè wiped her eyes with her good hand (she was favouring the other) and straightened up returning to her usual leadership posture. She smoothed down her untameable hair—the hair I had buried my face in on our first night together, it smelled of autumn and warmth and forest—and fixed steely eyes on mine. "You will not be fighting in the final battle." My eyes widened and I started to interrupt her. "You are too—"

"That's not— " but she powered on only raising her voice enough to drown mine out.

"You are too important to Ferelden and you will not be fighting."

I glared at her breathing heavily. "What gives you the right—?"

"I am still your captain." Saóirsè said. "You named me general when you took the title of king and so you will do as I command in matters of war if nothing else."

I meant to argue. I meant to shout and scream and refuse, but no words came out. I merely stared into her face, usually so open but this night it was shut off from me. I had done this to myself, done this to her. I deserved no honour or glory. I was not an honourable man.

She was correct; I had led her on. Not intentionally...no that's a poor excuse. I knew inevitably that once Cailan had died that I would have to take up the crown. And I knew I would have to sacrifice Saóirsè and my happiness to do so. Yet somehow I made myself forget that her happiness would also be sacrificed. I allowed her to believe I could be the man she saw in me because in doing so she made me happier than I had ever been in my life.

She stormed from the room with me slowly trailing her heels. I would not have followed, but there was only one exit and it went through a short hallway out the other exit—right into the main hall where our companions still stood.

As I entered I heard Saóirsè throw over her shoulder to the others: "Our king will not be fighting." And then she swept out of the room without even a pause.

Leliana didn't even hesitate before she followed her. She didn't even look back at me so I had an idea she knew what had transpired. Wynne gave me a knowing look and then left the room as well. I stood as all of our companions left, not one word spoken to me. Finally I thought I was alone but when I glanced up I saw Sten standing opposite me. The quanari spoke gravely to me.

"Of all human decisions that are foreign to me, I do understand this one." He said. I just stared back, blankly. "Nevertheless, I can see that while I understand this decision I do not agree with it."

And then he left and I stood alone with my grief and shame.

When Alistair finally made it to the dining hall breakfast had long finished. There was no sign of Anora, which made him thankful. However as he turned and headed for the kitchen (he supposed he ought to find some food in spite of a distinct lack of appetite) he ran into Eamon. He groaned inwardly—he had forgotten Eamon was staying. Outwardly he gave a bland smile.

"Good morning, Eamon." He said. "I trust you slept well?"

"Indeed I did," Eamon replied, then frowned. "May I have a word with you?"

"Certainly". Certainly not.

Alistair led Eamon back up stairs to his study and sat on the desk with Eamon facing him. "So, what news?"

"My liege—"

"Ahem."

"Alistair," Eamon corrected. "As you are no doubt aware, we are expecting a guest in Denerim in the next few days. I understand no royal welcome has been extended to suggest that she should stay in a guest suite here at the palace? This is not very good form."

"Guest?" Alistair said confused. "I am not aware. Why am I not aware? Where's my awareness?"

"Alistair," Eamon held up a hand to staunch the flow of words spewing from his kings mouth. "The Grey Warden is coming to Denerim."

Alistairs mouth went dry. "Grey Warden? Why we have several now, at least a handful, you will need to be more specific."

"Saóirsè Mahariel is coming to Denerim," Eamon said gently. "There is talk of her seeking a recruit from the Alienage."

Alistairs shoulders slumped. "Why did nobody seek to tell me?"

"Perhaps because they believe you already knew?" Eamon suggested. "Perhaps people still believe the two of you to be in close contact given that you are both Grey Wardens."

"Well they are mistaken." Alistair said glumly. "We are not in contact and have not been since I wed Anora. I don't think Saóirsè could take the hypocrisy of it."

"I expect this is why an invitation has not been extended to her party?" Eamon said. "Her companion, the Orlesian bard is staying in Denerim ahead of Saóirsès' arrival. I will send word to her. It would not do be seen to be disrespecting the head of the Ferelden Wardens."