This was a request/challenge on the Cheeky Monkeys Forum for a Fergus/F:Warden pairing.

This is going to be a story, so figured I'd start out with outlining certain things in this first chapter. Now, you will notice that Alistair is portrayed as not being his usual loveable ingame self. That is on purpose. I have an Alistair here who is hardened, but went in a different direction with it. Rather than using his newfound strength to keep the woman he loves by his side, he uses it for more selfish purposes. So, please, no reviews where Alistair isn't Alistair…I already know that.

And, for those of you who have read my other stories, well, you know…I do not go canon. I just can't bring myself to doing so. Of course, this storyline is never intimated ingame, so, it's very AU.

And, as always, I own nothing. I keep wishing upon those bloody stars, but still, nothing! It's all BioWare's baby, fleshed out by the talented David Gaider. *sighs* Some day…

Worth Fighting For

Chapter 1

Dark eyes skimmed over the well dressed forms that glided and danced, laughed and tarried throughout the grand ballroom. His wife had always loved these festivities: grand parties, she had called them as she rejoiced at the occasion to purchase a new gown that would show off her slender form. He had always hated these events, as had his father, remonstrating them as mere circumstance to allow those seeking favor to postulate and garner favors for themselves.

Of course, as the second most powerful man in all of Fereldan, he could not shirk his duty. As the sole surviving member of his family, he found himself, alone, attending to the new king's coronation and subsequent celebration thereafter.

At the thought of the new king, Fergus Cousland's eyes wandered to where the young Theirin stood amidst a vast sea of Fereldan's eligible daughters. His eyes narrowed as he watched the king flirt and joke, causing more than a blush or two to color the cheeks of those young hopefuls. He seemed well in his element, pleased with himself. But the older noble could not help but feel disdain for the young king, for what he had so blatantly and thoughtlessly tossed away.

That thought brought the Teyrn's eyes from the king, seeking out the one figure he truly wished to see, yet hoped had not attended the celebration.

As he knew she would, there she was. Standing taller than most of the noblewomen present, she was resplendent in a gown of deepest blue, trimmed with silvery gray: the colors of the Grey Wardens. Her dark, auburn hair hung in great waves around her shoulders, cascading, loose, down her back. Her heart shaped face was bent down, listening to the blond elven man that was ever at her side. Zevran, the Teyrn recalled the elf's name. His attention was back on the young woman's face. When he had first met her, she was like a great beacon, her face open, friendly, a eternal smile upon her lips, her dark eyes alight with humor and mischief. Although undeniably beautiful, it was that inner light, that almost perpetual good humor that had caught Fergus' eye, those days before the fateful Landsmeet that had installed Alistair upon the throne.

Now, that light was gone, not merely dimmed. The smile lines around her mouth betrayed who she had once been, and did not reconcile with whom she was quickly becoming.

A sad young woman, who fought not to raise her eyes to glance over at the golden king awash amidst a great sea of those he had deemed more worthy of his attentions than she.

A scowl threatened to make its appearance upon his face, and Fergus fought against it, smiling genially at the young woman who had crept close to garner his attention. As the second most eligible noble in all of Fereldan, Fergus was quickly finding himself amidst his own quagmire of young hopefuls, those who did not deem themselves capable of vying for the king's attention, but hopeful they may yet catch the Teyrn's eye.

So, trapped, the young Teyrn spoke of meaningless things to those vapid noblewomen, catching a snippet here and there as his eyes inevitably strayed to the figure of the Hero of Fereldan, that nonsensical moniker Alistair had burdened her with. Every now and again, one of the women surrounding him would catch the track of his gaze, and a slight sneer would cross one pretty face or another. He caught the expression, but brought no attention to it.

Once more his gaze fixed upon her, watching as Zevran smiled, reaching up to gently push back a stray lock of her thick hair behind one small ear. A sad smile graced her lips, and the elf rose up on his toes as she bent down, allowing him to place a gentle kiss upon her cheek. Fergus' gaze instantly shifted to the king, who had watched the exchange. A slight feeling of amusement crept over him as he watched Alistair's face darkened, golden eyes narrowing. That he dared feel jealously when he had tossed her aside, claiming she was not good enough for the king of Fereldan? Would he allow her no comfort at all?

That amusement changed quickly to anger. He considered the young woman a friend. Met days prior to that fateful Landsmeet, she had smuggled him into the city of Denerim, to Arl Eamon's estate, keeping him safely hidden from those who would seek his demise. Those who had brought about the destruction of everything and everyone he had ever loved.

During those days, he saw a young woman desperately in love with a young man. A young man Fergus had thought loved her with equal devotion. However, after proclaiming Alistair king, Alistair stepped forward. His first order of business was to set the armies into preparation for defeating the Blight, proclaiming his fellow Warden general of those armies. The second, was the order of Anora's death.

The third had been a very public and humiliating break up with the young woman who was responsible for gathering allies to defeat the Blight, who had met Loghain in a dual and vanquished him single handedly.

Alistair's reasoning may have seemed sound: Magda was, after all, merely a mage. One that Fereldan's citizenry would never accept as Queen. However, Fergus knew better. Had Alistair truly cared for her as he had proclaimed, he would have fought for her. Made her his consort rather than Queen.

After all, since the Blight's defeat, the new Grand Cleric, a former Revered Mother Hannah from Redcliffe, all but sang the virtues of Magda Amell, proclaiming her touched by the Maker himself.

He snorted. For her boon in defeating the Blight, Alistair had so graciously proclaimed that all mages within Fereldan would have the power to govern themselves, making them true citizens of the Blighted country. The Chantry, led by Grand Cleric Hannah, immediately proclaimed the boon true and set, even going that one step further and proclaiming that all mages could renew their familial bonds. Those families who wished to be reunited could do so.

Of course, that proclamation had the added benefit that those mages born into noble families could, once again, be claimed as nobles and hold titles. Fergus' mind inevitably went to his twin sister, taken from even their powerful family at the age of five, when it had been revealed that she had magic. To the day she died, his mother could not bear having a mage in the employ of the family, as it reminded her too strongly of the daughter she had been forced to relinquish. The Chantry had even gone the extra, almost unheard of step of sending his sister, Abigail, to the tower in Orlais, stating that one born into so powerful of family would need extra protection. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland had maintained the Chantry did so for fear that the second more powerful family in Fereldan would find a way to get their child back into their care.

In a strange way, sending Abigail to Orlais more than likely saved her life, if half the stories he heard of during the Blight were true.

Finally making a decision, Fergus graciously extricated himself from his admirers, and started toward where Magda Amell, Hero of Fereldan, stood, silent and watching, tucked into the dark sidelines of the grand ballroom.

OoO

Exhaustion had become a familiar feeling for her, and she found herself actually relishing in it. During the Blight, they traversed one corner of Fereldan to the other, and she had never felt as drained as she did as she stood, back to the wall, Zevran as always at her side, watching as the nobles danced and laughed, glided and tarried.

She purposefully kept her eyes from going to him. To do so…she was uncertain if she could keep her composure if she spied him.

What she really wanted to do was simply disappear, dissolve into whatever stone or wood work she stood before and simply cease being. After all, now she had no sense of purpose, no reason for being here - or anywhere. She had finished her last quest and now had nothing with which to occupy her time.

Her talks with the Grand Cleric had gone exceedingly well, and preparations for allowing the mages self-governship were well under way. Of course, concessions had to be made, and Magda felt that Her Eminence's requests were fair indeed. Templars would continue to monitor any Circle or subsequent schools, watchful for any signs of abominations. Blood magic, of course, was still illegal and any mage found practicing would be confined until his or her potential for danger could be evaluated. Magda had fought against the idea of immediately imprisoning or executing blood mages on sight. Her own experience proved that not all blood mages were evil, and she was certain that once restrictions were lifted, the frequency of Fereldan blood mages would drop.

Magda had bee pleasantly surprised by the Grand Cleric's proclamation that all mages were eligible for reuniting with their families, provided those same families wished for such renewed contact. Hannah had made a special note to point out that those born into noble families could resume their titles, inheritances and responsibilities as such. Magda rejoiced in that, as it meant that Connor Guerrin could reunite with his parents and remain as heir to the aging Arl's domain.

Her dark brown eyes lifted as she scanned the crowd. She had hoped to speak with the Arl and Arlessa regarding this latest development, but Arl Eamon had been making a point of ignoring her requests for an audience. The young mage frowned. She knew that the Arl did not like her, despite her saving his Arling, his wife and son. She was certain that his initial dislike came from the fact that she and Alistair had been involved. But surely, now that he had convinced Alistair that she was no good for him, that amenity could be set aside.

Her gaze fell upon the Arl and his wife. Eamon was studiously avoiding looking over into her corner, but Isolde glanced up, a smile crossing her lips as she nodded at the younger woman. Well, at least one Guerrin did not hate her. She supposed that was something.

A couple glided gracefully by her, and Zevran spoke. She had not been paying any attention to the sole friend who had remained by her side. And, while she knew that each had their own lives, she felt abandoned. Everyone who had come to mean so much to her had left her side within a month of the Blight's defeat. Save for Zevran.

Morrigan, true to her word, had vanished after the Archdemon had been defeated. Magda had mixed feelings about her fellow mage, a woman she had come to consider like a sister to her. To have found out that her true reason for accompanying them had been so that she could bear a child born with the soul of an old god? Magda shuddered, recalling how eager and willing Alistair had been to lay with the witch…she shook her head as she sought to drive the memory of the sounds that came from Alistair's room that night away.

Wynne was still in Denerim, but the wily old mage had gone to Alistair's side, joining his council as a representative of the magi. Magda was still fighting over that appointment. She did not feel that Wynne was an appropriate representation of the younger generation of mages that now resided within Fereldan and would be the ones to venture forth from the confines of the Tower. Fortunately, the Grand Cleric agreed and was working with the king to appoint someone younger and of a more balanced mindset. Wynne was too closed minded to properly represent all of the magi.

Leliana had vanished in the night, without a word or note. Sten had returned home, to give his report to the Arishok. Alabaster, her faithful mabari warhound, had perished during the final battle, and Shale had returned to Orzammar.

Of Oghren, Magda had received word that he had returned to Lake Calenhad, seeking to court his former lover, Felsi.

Magda glanced down, her dark eyes settling upon the turned profile of the handsome elven man who remained ever by her side. Zevran's stead fasted friendship and loyalty had touched her dearly. She knew that the elf was in love with her, although he had yet to say those words exactly. And, she loved him as well. But it was not a romantic love, one he had hoped would find her in his bed for more than chasing the nightmares away. That he remained, even without a promise that she would be his lover spoke of his great character and enormous heart. A small frown crossed her lips as she shoved away the memories of every disparaging remark Alistair and Wynne had made of the former assassin. He had proven more loyal than any of them had been.

A tear gathered in her eyes, and she berated herself for having thought of him. Zevran whispered something at her side, and she bent down slightly to listen. He was cooing at her, and raised a warm hand to brush a lock of hair back behind one ear. She turned, blinking away the tears, offering him a small smile.

"There, there, mi a mica," he crooned as his hand gently traced the curve of her cheek. "We shall not remain long," he promised as he rose up to place a soft kiss upon her cheek.

"Thank you, Zev," she murmured as she straightened, shifting her feet slightly. "You are a true friend."

"Ah, and what else can I be?" he quipped, a devilish smile crossing his handsome, tattooed face. "I make a good bed warmer as well, yes?"

A giggle forced itself from between her lips, and Magda nodded at her friend. "You are far more than that, Zev. Far more."

"Ah, this is good to hear," he purred, the smile widening as his eyes shifted back to the crowd. "Ever shall I remain by your side, my dearest Magda." His gaze settled back upon her face. "Never should you doubt that."

The smile that crossed her face was genuine, and Magda nodded as she lifted her head to watch the approach of the young Teryn of Highever.

OoO

He offered her a smile as he approached, and was gladdened that his young friend smiled in return. There was a flash of that light that had faded from her, and he wished that he had the power to make it return permanently. Zevran offered him a smile and nod as he approached.

"Greetings, Teryn Fergus," the elven assassin purred as he dipped into a deep bow.

Fergus shook his head, aware that the elf was putting on a show, perhaps in the hopes of making Magda smile. It worked, and he was glad for the elf's antics.

"Fergus," Magda greeted less formally, "how are you enjoying the festivities?"

Her voice was small, and the words foreign to the tone with which they were delivered. Quirking a dark brow at her, Fergus smiled, stepping closer as he bent down to whisper in a conspirator tone, "About as much as you are, Magda."

A chuckle burst from her lips, and she shook her dark head. "Ah, well, then, let's say we just set the whole of it afire and start anew."

That flash of her usual humor and suddenly the room was brighter. But, it dimmed quickly as she recalled herself and took a step back, her head bowing slightly yet again. Zevran noticed the shift, and frowned slightly, his honey gold eyes glancing slightly to the side, settling briefly upon the figure of King Alistair as he twirled a young hopeful around the dance floor.

"Actually, Magda, I do have a favor to ask of you," Fergus said, smiling at the young mage. She nodded and he continued. "I have decided to return to Highever." There was a clenching in his chest. He had not returned to Highever since he had left with the bulk of his father's forces to fight against the Blight almost two years prior. Months after the Blight's defeat, he had not found the heart nor strength to return.

A long fingered hand reached out and grasped his forearm. "Fergus, I am so sorry…" she began, and faltered, uncertain what else to say.

Shaking his head, he patted her sword calloused hand with his own. "It is time, I think. I understand most of Howe's men have vacated the castle, however, there may still be those few remnants who are unaware of just how illegal their…trespass is." His voice grew stern and strong, his brows furrowed and his eyes flashed. "I mean to show them just how wrong they are."

Silence fell for mere moments, and then Fergus, recalling himself, shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and resumed. "I have no doubt that…there are…" his voice caught here, and Magda's grip on his arm tightened as she stepped closer. He could feel her body warmth, and smiled at her. "I apologize. Perhaps this is not the time nor place…"

"Nonsense," Magda waved away his words. "If you've a mind to say something, then say it."

A grateful smile crossed his lips. "There will need to be clean up and restoration efforts, of that I am certain. I had hoped," his eyes lifted to meet hers. "I had hoped that perhaps you would accompany me and offer any assistance you could."

There it was again, that light, just behind her dark eyes. Zevran shifted slightly beside them, placing a hand to the small of Magda's back. "To feel useful again…" she whispered, frowning as her own words came to her ears. Focusing back upon the young noble before her, the mage nodded. "Fergus, I would be honored to offer whatever assistance I can."

"As will I," Zevran offered, extending a hand to the human. Fergus smiled at the pair, taking the proffered hand and giving it a firm squeeze and shake.

"When do you play to depart?" Magda asked, her body shifting so that she was turned fully away from where Alistair stood, more focused upon the Teyrn before her.

That was a good sign. "Two days hence," he replied, feeling as though a great weight was lifted from his shoulders.

With a slight bow of her head, "Two days hence, then," Magda responded. She took a deep breath, straightening to her full height. "I think that I have some packing to do." She glanced sidelong at her elven companion. "As do you, my friend."

Grinning up into her face, Zevran agreed.

"My thanks, My Lady," Fergus said as he took her hand, bowing over it before brushing his lips lightly across her knuckles. "If there is anything you need in the meantime, please do not hesitate to make it known to me."

"You have provided me with a sense of purpose, Fergus," Magda said as she gently withdrew her hand. "To leave Denerim, on such a noble undertaking, is more than I could hope for."

Then, with a bow, the mage glided across the floor and left the ball room. Zevran watched her depart and then turned to the Teyrn.

"My thanks, my friend," the Antivan assassin remarked, his voice and countenance serious. "Now that the business with the mages and Chantry has finished, I was worrying over what next would keep my dear Warden's attention. You have offered her a sense of purpose, and for that, I shall ever be grateful."

"It is I who owes her thanks," Fergus insisted, frowning at the elf as his gaze shifted from the retreating back of the mage back to his companion. "I doubt I could have found it within myself to find the courage to return had I not a friend such as she."

"Then we are all offering up our thanks, then!" Zevran chirped, clapping his hands together once. "Such a grateful bunch we are." Then, with a smile and another bow, the elf took his leave, following after the Warden mage.

Bemusedly, Fergus watched the elf's departure.