Author's Note: This story follows the Hero of Ferelden, human mage background, nine years after the defeat of the Archdemon and only a couple of months after the final events in Dragon Age 2. I just had to write a story on the mage Hero and Cullen, because he seemed so cute and sweet in the Circle and when he mentions the Hero in DA2 ("She was a special woman... Never met her like again" d'aww...), and I love the idea of him hating himself for wanting a mage ;)

*I unfortunately never got to play all of the Awakenings expansion, so I'm probably not going to incorporate much of the events and characters (aside from Anders and Nathaniel) from that expansion into the story. It's nothing against them, in fact I really loved Sigrun, I just don't want to screw up the characters and storyline with my shoddy, incomplete memories ;) ** Update: So in the... two years? since I wrote this, I played Awakenings all the way through and so I may be going back not only to update the story of typos and inconsistencies, but also to add in a little more fullness to the back story where it pertains to Awakenings. It's good to be back :)

Disclaimer: I don't claim to own any part of Dragon Age, only my original characters.

Alistair's eyes, those beautiful green eyes Tori had once loved so much – no, still loved so much – were brimming with sorrow. His forehead was creased in pain as he looked down at her, pain that she knew was mirrored in her own face.

This was it, it was over between them. The very thing they had fought so hard for this past year – the safety and unity of Ferelden – is the very thing that wrenched them apart. He was King now, married to Queen Anora, and she was the newly-made Commander of the Grey, and a mage at that. Whatever they had once had had to be forgotten in the face of duty and propriety.

"I'm… I'm so sorry, Tori, but this is how it has to be," his voice broke and he looked away. He had always been so sensitive, barely a man in both years and hardness. She had loved that about him, the tender hesitance with which he kissed her, the vulnerability as he gazed into her eyes, ran a finger down her cheek, slowly unbuttoned her shirt…

Fighting the Archdemon had nearly cost her her life despite Morrigan's dark ritual, and yet that endless battle seemed so easy now, compared to this. Her battle wounds had healed into livid scars, but how could she ever heal heartbreak? How could magic and doctoring ever soothe the burning ache in her chest that made her want to cry, to scream, to tear at her skin and throw things across the room like any normal girl her age would?

But Tori was no longer a girl, she was a woman. She had left the Circle with Duncan when she was nineteen, and now she was nearly twenty-one years old. She had loved a man, had given everything she had in her heart and her mind to him, had fought a war and made decisions many rulers never had to face, had killed countless people, and now she had had her heart broken. She was a woman now.

Toriana couldn't speak, couldn't bear to look in his face any longer. Large brown eyes threatened to overflow with tears, but she choked them back as she stared dully at her boots. She didn't want to lose him, but if she couldn't have him she at least didn't want to part on bad terms. It just wouldn't be fair to either of them, considering what they had shared.

"I understand," she said softly, corners of her eyes creasing with the effort of holding back the urge to scream at him. She hadn't wanted him to become King! She knew that he and Anora ruling together was the best choice they could have made for the country, but that selfish, dark part of her hadn't wanted him to become King, because she knew it would mean losing him. And still she had announced Anora's plan – for it was the Queen who had come up with the idea, after Tori showed reluctance to make her the sole ruler of Ferelden – to the Landsmeet, and the marriage had gone as planned.

She hated Anora.

She hated Eamon, for supporting the idea.

More than that, she hated herself for going along with it. She hated Alistair, for charming her with his sweet words and tender caresses, with his admission of love and that look that said he wanted to be with her forever. She hated herself for falling for him, even as she knew what they had was doomed to fail.

And she hated him even more now, because instead of walking away and leaving it at that (why couldn't he just let it be?), he opened his arms to her and pulled her into an embrace that finally forced the tears from her eyes. His arms were so gentle, as if he thought she might break, and his breath stirred her hair and made her want to hold him and never, ever let go, Ferelden and the Grey Wardens be damned. He whispered apologies into the top of her head, his voice sounding just as broken as she felt. Her scalp prickled as his tears dropped into her hair, his heartbeat whooshing in her ears.

But Tori didn't have the option to give in to that selfish part of her mind. There were people who depended on them, on him more so than her, and her sense of duty would not let her run off with him, no matter how much her heart begged for it. With a heavy, shaky breath she pushed him away and turned before he could see her wet cheeks.

"No. Goodbye Alistair," she murmured before she strode for the door.

"I'll always love you."

Those words stung. They stung more than when he ended the relationship, more than when he said he was sorry. They sunk into her soul and wrenched her apart from the inside out, till she could no longer hold back the sob that had stuck in her throat. In an instant, she was out of her temporary room in the Royal Palace, running down the halls like a mage possessed.

As she ran down the back steps of the palace, the ones the servants used, the tears dried and cracked on her cheeks until she stopped in the quiet, nearly empty royal gardens. By the time she slinked into a small thicket of rose bushes to curl up away from any other people, thorns scratching her skin and pulling at her hair, she had no more tears left. She only felt empty. Just empty.

Toriana woke with a start, and before she even fully realized she had been dreaming, anger flooded her veins. She had gone for nearly a whole year without dwelling on Alistair, dwelling on that morning, and now it was all she could do not to grab the empty bottle of rum from her bedside table and throw it at the wall in fury. She didn't need this, she didn't need the memories or that all-to-familiar ache in her chest. She was done being hurt.

After nine years, you would have thought her mind would give her a break.

A glance at her window told her it was not long before sunrise, and considering she had been up half the night drinking and joking with the few Grey Wardens that remained in Vigil's Keep, she had likely only had a couple of hours of sleep. It wasn't new to her, as sound sleep came rarely to Grey Wardens anyways; dreams of darkspawn and the Archdemon filled her head most nights - sometimes Grey Warden dreams, and sometimes her memories of the horrors she'd seen during the Fifth Blight - but she had gradually gotten used to it over the many years. Tonight's dream was far more scarring than any dream of the darkspawn could be, and with a sigh she knew she would not be able to fall back asleep.

As Tori washed her face in the bowl of water on her table and pulled on her clothes and armor for the day, she forced her features to remain calm despite her inner turmoil. She fought back the memories of Alistair's kisses, the sweet nothings he had once whispered in her ears, the first night they had made love – for that's what it had been, not just sex but a bonding of two kindred spirits, a display of trust as they both gave to each other what they had never before given to any other.

She pushed it from her mind, and found she also had to fight back an ache deep in her gut. The thoughts of Alistair's touch made her whole body heat up and a sweat break out on her brow. Inexperienced as he had been, he had been eager to please, to learn, and in the time they were together they explored every inch of each other, had found the sensitive spots and the certain places that made the other gasp and twist and beg for more.

With a frustrated shake of her head, Toriana slid her breastplate of cured high dragonhide over her head and began buckling the complex closures that would keep it snug against her body. Putting on her armor took nearly ten minutes, which she would normally see as a waste of time if it weren't for the fact that it used to take her thirty minutes when she first began wearing armor instead of simple robes.

A quick study in the mirror proved everything to be in order and looking proper, and Toriana left her room for the mess hall. A bit of tea and some biscuits would help clear her head.

It proved to be a tiring day, what with people constantly stopping to ask her questions on what should be done about various situations, or who should be consulted on certain matters, or simply people looking for her input or advice. The pinnacle of the day, however, was the report she received from a young Warden with a request for aid from the Free Marches.

Apparently the city of Kirkwall was being antagonized by a large group of darkspawn striking from the Deep Roads, led by a rather clever emissary, and they no longer had the strength to fight them off. Tori had heard of the terrorist act that had caused the death of countless innocents in the Kirkwall Chantry, and of course she knew of the mages' rebellion against the templars, so the request for help came as no surprise.

Even with Kirkwall's strong guard base, their templars – which Tori had been irritated to learn held most of the power in the city – were weakened from the massive rebellion that had occurred only months earlier and they were certainly in no condition to fight off darkspawn. It was up to the Grey Wardens to protect them.

The Warden-Commander sent word with the messenger that a small group of Wardens would be traveling with her to the city of Kirkwall in two days' time. That would give her enough time to make arrangements for Vigil's Keep until she returned – she would leave it under Nathaniel's care, he knew how to run the place, and she didn't intend to be gone longer than a few months. It had been nearly a year since her last expedition, and she ached for some action. Day-to-day affairs of running the Fereldan Grey Wardens got tiring, and boring as well. She needed a little excitement.

And perhaps the fighting would keep her mind too preoccupied to think about Alistair.