Title: Petals and Thorns

Genre: Adventure and Romance…sort of.

Timeline: Post Origins, Pre-Awakening (And we'll all just pretend DA2 didn't happen.)

Author's Note: Okay, so because this is a RPG game and a kick ass one at that, I have provided you lovelies with all the information you will need to understand the setup of this fan-fic. I'm not sure how long this fic will be or if I'll ever really do anything with what I've already posted. I think it will depend on the response I get from the readers, i.e. you kind people. Oh, and I'll definitely be open to ideas about how to keep it going. I realize that there are lot of cool mods and what not available for PC users that aren't available for console users (you lucky, bastards) so I might be open to do doing various spin-offs to scenes and events that occurred during those mods. Idk, it remains to be seen…

Introduction, Epilogue and Other Pertinent Information: When Duncan recruited the elven mage from the tower after blood-mage, Jowan's attempt at escape; he couldn't have known what an impact she would have on the world as they all knew it. Through her compassion and wisdom, the blight was thwarted before it had truly even begun.

The events after the blight are as follow:

(Pay attention, for I veered from the game's defaults for the sake of plot and mercy on my poor fangirl soul.)

After Logain was executed in the lands-meet, the warden decided it was best if Alistair took the throne in spite of his insistence he did not truly wish for the throne. Alistair finally capitulated and it was decided that Queen Anora would be removed to the tower. However, Alistair's acceptance of the throne would come at the cost of the romantic relationship between the Warden and himself. He sighted his reasons for terminating the relationship had more to do with the taint in both their bodies, though the warden suspected her elven heritage might have something to do with it as well. Their relationship thus ended.

Hours before the battle, both wardens were informed that it was possible one of them would have to be sacrificed in order to stem the blight; however Morrigan offered a strange alternative. The alterative involved a sexual ritual between Alistair and herself, during which a child would be conceived. Alistair resisted at first, but the warden managed to convince him to undergo the ritual (with the help of the maximization of her coercion skill. )

And thus, the warden dealt the final blow, and the arch-demon was slain. True to Morrigan's word, both wardens were spared. After the battle, Alistair would relent on his decision to end his relationship with the warden and ask her to remain at court as his mistress. The warden would decline this offer. And instead she would go on to travel for a time, sometimes in the company of her companions: Wynne, Shale, Sten, Lelianna, Ogrehen and Zeveran. Eventually, the warden would join the Dalish and become one of the people's most respected keepers.

In time Alistair would grant Queen Anora freedom, and somehow the two would eventually broker a friendship; a friendship that would one day lead in their betrothal, and then marriage. Alistair would spend a great deal of time at court, showing willingness to learn the art of governing, and ruling fairly. He would prove quite popular, with his humor and grace winning them over as much as his willingness to sneak out of the castle and mingle in the lower-class taverns. And thus, our story beings here…

(For further notes on the different outcomes of the kingdoms, individual moral quests please see the bottom of the chapter. Though, most of those should be touched one during this first chapter as it will kind of set the scene for the rest of this story…I think. Let me know, if there are any questions.)


Chapter One: Duty Calls

Boys would be boys. And so would most middle-aged men.

Neria ignored the leering glances of the palace guards as she was led to the guest room. Her glance roved from wall to wall and she fought the uneasy feeling creeping over her as they walked past the rows of stone. She wrinkled her brow as her bare feet traveled over the plush deep red carpet. The Gods only knew how she had come to hate walls. She wondered if the observation was just further evidence on how deeply she'd come to admire the Dalish over the past two years.

During her time spent at the circle, training to become a magister, she had never minded the walls. She'd never had reason to. While others, mainly her dear friend Jowan, had resented the walls of the tower, she'd been content to allow them to shield her. For as much as the Templars sought to limit mage influence amongst the general population, she'd always been grateful for the protection the fortification had provided against mage-hating fanatics.

For the maker's sake, she was, a woman, an elf and a mage. She couldn't possibly be in a better position for stone throwing. Though, being the Hero of Ferelden had since taken the edge off the bulk of the usual hushed murmurs and scathing looks from the people who considered themselves her betters. A guard sounded a low whistle behind her back as the elven maid guiding her to her chambers bent to collect a stray scrap of paper, and Neria rolled her eyes. For all of her accomplishments, being a woman in a world full of idiotic men was a fate she'd never escape.

A blush touched the maiden's cheeks as she straightened and stepped to the side of the large ornate door. "Your chamber's…?" The girl fell silent and lowered her eyes, her forehead creasing in obvious confusion. "Pardon me; I'm not sure how I should refer to you."

A tick of anger flared within Neria at the girl's quickness to bend-knee, but she tamped down her frustration with her people's place in the world and tried for calm. This girl didn't know any better; she was only conducting herself as she'd be taught to. Neria sent a silent prayer to the Gods of old that perhaps the elven people might be able to see some measure of peace and freedom from oppression soon, if not during her life time. She caught the girl's gaze, offering a small smile. "You may refer to me as Keeper."

The girl smiled warmly. "Thank you, Keeper. Is there anything else I can do for you while you await his majesty's summons?"

"No, that is all." Neria ignored the way her stomach twisted at the mention of Alistair as she reached for the door. "You may return to your duties or otherwise retire for the evening."

"Are you sure, Keeper? I was instructed to wait on you to the best of my ability during your stay here at the palace."

"I assure you, dalen, if I can slay an arch-demon, I can manage to unpack my things myself." She responded warmly as she opened the door to her rooms.

Without further hesitation, the girl nodded and Neria couldn't help but watch as she departed down the row of guardsmen posted just outside of her rooms. She wasn't sure if this merely an extra precaution the Capitan of the Guard had taken because of her elevated status or if the palace was normally this heavily guarded. If it was a result of the former, it would be interesting to find out just what had prompted such a response. She would have to ask Shianni during their meeting tomorrow. The maid paused before the last guard on the left, the one Neria suspected had whistled earlier and she was surprised to see the young woman hand him the scrap of paper as she gifted a shy smile.

Even more surprising, the guard betrayed his desire for her with a hot look and a somewhat devilish smile. Neria couldn't help the smile that twitched at the corner of her mouth. If their apparent affection for one another was any indication, perhaps the elven people had fared better since the last time she'd been in Denerim. She hoped so. The subtle display of affection between the two brought mind another similar couple, and Neria's heart ached. She turned away and retreated into her rooms, closing the door behind herself.

She leaned against the door, sucking in a deep breath as her eyes wandered over the lavish accommodations. The large room was crowded with ornate furniture, a large hearth and a huge canopied bed. Neria slanted a glance toward the windows, to the forests that lay beyond the city. Alistair knew better or at least she'd hoped he hadn't forgotten her aversion to such finery. She was most at home in that shabby little camp, around a large fire, surrounded by the companions who had become her family. This, this decadence, felt like a prison. The weight of dread she'd felt since she'd walked into Denerim thickened and her hand wandered to her throat as though she could physically rips its grip off.

When she'd left the city two years ago, she'd known then that she never wanted to return. She never wanted to see him or this wretched city again. So much death, so much heartache haunted the very foundation of this city and she'd rather spend her time amongst the trees. At least in the wild, there was hope for a new beginning. Nature had a way of cleansing even the worst of man-kinds sins.

Moonlight spilled in through the windows, and along with the few candles that had been lit, it should've been enough light. It wasn't. Neria drew from her connection to the fade and waved her hand toward the hearth. A fire leapt up from the wood, and she eased with the additional light and warmth. Though this summer's nights had proven to be warm enough, she was still an elf and couldn't abide the chill of the stone surrounding her. Not to mention, she despised the dark.

Some great warden I am. Neria smirked and laid her elegant ironbark staff against the wall, and wandered toward the fire. She'd always hated the dark. The trek through the deep roads in search of Branka, one of Orzammar's so-called paragons, had all but convinced her that the darkness itself was out to eat her, regardless of the dark spawn.

The only time she'd ever felt safe in the darkness had been when…

Neria's throat worked as her pride flared, in a desperate attempt to battle the onslaught of pain such memories brought up. He didn't deserve to occupy her thoughts. Not anymore. Alistair had ceased to be her concern once the arch-demon had been slain and the blight thwarted. She folded her arms as she gazed into the flickering flames.

"You know, Neria, you could always stay…with me. As my mistress. I don't think anyone would really question a king having a mistress. Happens all the time." The memory bloomed in her mind unbidden and she dung her nails into her arms as anger roared to life within her. How dare he? She would not be his elven whore, not after he'd been so quick to dismiss her plea to marry him and become a proper wife. It didn't matter anymore. Her leaving Denerim had been the best thing to happen to her. She'd become one of the people, she'd found her place as a keeper. And she'd accomplished so much since then. And if she had anything to do with it, the elven people would have a land of their own before she drew her final breath.

Neria shielded herself from the brunt of the pain swelling inside her and turned her gaze toward the door. She didn't know when or how she'd become so sensitive to footsteps or just the barest of movement, but it was almost impossible to sneak up on her anymore.

Someone knocked on the door and Neria cast her gaze to the fire, speaking softly. "Enter."

The door swung open, revealing a guardsman. He tipped his head respectfully. "Pardon the interruption, but King Alistair will see you know."

Neria recognized the guardsman from earlier and a bitter-amusement swarmed her. She regarded him coolly. "Do you know who I am, guardsman?"

He lifted his gaze, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Everyone knows who you are."

"Then it safe to assume that you know I landed the final blow against the arch-demon, I suppose?"

The guardsmen eyed her with a carefully masked suspicion. "It is? May I ask why you would ask me such a question?"

"I only mention it so that you are well aware of what you will be facing should you hurt that young woman."

The guardsman tensed, lifted his chin slightly. "You know nothing of me and Mya."

Neria sighed and wandered over to where she'd propped up her staff. "No, I dare say I do not. But I do know something of forbidden love." She came to stand before him, tipping her head to gaze up into his hardened expression. She noted the glimmer of challenge and the affection he so obviously had for the young woman. It warmed her, even as it saddened her. "Tread carefully, guardsman. Love is a precious and terrible thing."

Tension rippled off of him, but he seemed to grasp her meaning and offered her a somewhat impish smile. "I'm not afraid."

Neither were we. Neria recognized his carefree humor and she sealed the memoires trying to tunnel their way to the surface behind the years of discipline she'd managed. Instead, she offered a curt nod and motioned toward the door. "Then shall we."

The guardsman stepped to the side and she started down the hall. And so it would seem her and the once Templar would meet again after nearly two years. If she had to face the man who'd broken her heart, she would do so as the warrior and respected advisor the whole of Thedas regarded her as. Alistair was no different than any other king. Hell, she'd damn near placed him on the throne, along with a few others who now counted themselves as royalty. Gods give her strength.

The majestic throne room hadn't changed at all since the last time she'd stood in it. The plush carpets warmed the room and the shinning candelabras cast a glowing light on the golden thrones elevated in the fair back. She glanced up at the balcony as she wandered down the aisle. So many fates had been decided in this room. She paused, standing in the same spot as Logain had as he drew his final breaths. She took a few steps, and found herself in the place she'd been when she'd decided Alistair's fate, and by association, her own. If she'd chosen to hand the crown to Anora, perhaps things might have been different. Perhaps, things would've ended similar to way she'd once allowed herself to dream. Her and Alistair against the world.

She shook her head, even back then she'd known Alistair was destined to be great king. In addition, by then she'd learned to trust her gut and nothing about Anora's conduct thus far had given her any reason to believe she would be a fair and just queen. The woman had seemed extremely cut throat. Neria wondered if that was a just appraisal of the woman's character or if it was simply left over resentment from Anora's betrayal back when she'd rescued her from Howe's fortress. In Neria's defense, the woman had all but screamed at the top of her lungs that she and her companions had attempted to kidnap her.

Anora should count herself lucky. Had she not have fled during the ensuing battle between Neria and Logain's supporter, Neria might have killed the lying louse right then and there in her rage. It was one thing to put her in danger; it was another matter to think her friend's lives so expendable.

"Greetings, Warden."

Neria grit her teeth. Speak of the devil. Schooling her expression, she tightened her grip on her staff and turned toward the voice. Anora was clad in pale silk gown, a thin circlet adorning her brow. She stood, poised with all the grace of a woman who'd grown accustomed to commanding respect just by her presence. She would receive no such blind submission from Neria. Not now. Not ever. When Neria had heard of Anora's release from the tower, and her subsequent marriage to Alistair, she'd been torn between intense jealously and shrewd admiration of the woman's ability to manipulate Merric's sons.

Neria tipped her chin slightly, but kept her eyes firmly fixated on the queen. "And to you, your grace."

Though it irked her to show Anora any respect, she had not gotten as far as she had by swimming against the current. Well, that is, she hadn't gotten this far by doing so without having a few crafty manipulations of her own up her sleeve.

The queen laced her fingers together and regarded her coolly. "I hope you fared well during your travels. Denerim is certainly honored by your presence."

"I did, thank you." Neria offered a tight smile as she straightened.

The candlelight illuminated the circlet resting against Anora's forehead, highlighting her sandy blonde hair. Her sharp bright eyes studied the staff caught in Neria's grasp as well as her Dalish garbs. "Indeed, it seems you have done well for yourself since the last time we met."

On a whim Neria wondered just how much Alistair had told Anora of their relationship, but dismissed the question as an irrelevant one. It didn't matter. Anora had won in the end. All the twit needed to do now was bear Alistair an heir, and she'd officially weasel her way into sainthood. They'd probably erect a statue of her…somewhere. "It seems fortune has also smiled upon you, your grace." Neria remarked dryly.

Anora's gaze sharpened as she registered the subtle slight, her lush mouth tilting ever so slightly. "After you've spoken with my husband, I would ask that you seek me out. I would like to speak with you privately."

"Of course, I would be happy to seek you out at a later time if there are too many witnesses for your liking at present. " Neria spoke in an even, most diplomatic tone, satisfied with her show wit.

The guardsmen who had escorted her to the throne room coughed, though the interruption sounded more like an attempt to cover up a burst of laughter. Neria resisted the urge to smile, even as her better sense told her not to provoke the queen. After all, as Arl Eamon had once stated himself, this particular woman would always been either a powerful alley or a horrible enemy. And to tell the truth, Neria had no desire to incur the wrath of yet another. She had enough people who wanted her dead as it was.

"In any case, 'tis late and I should like to retire." She lifted a manicured brow. "Perhaps, we will speak more tomorrow…?"

Neria titled her head in acknowledgment, not trusting herself to speak. Anora accepted the gesture and turned, elegantly floating toward one of the side doors. The sound of the heavy door swinging closed down behind her echoed through the room and Neria couldn't help but glance down at her clothes. The knee-length, pale green robes had been tailored just for her, and amongst the Dalish she had felt very fine. Anora had made her feel like the opposite. She reached down and fiddled with the gold griddle. She wrinkled her nose at the way the gold bands on her ankles seemed to draw even more attention to the fact that her feet were filthy. Perhaps, she should pick up a pair of boots on tomorrow on her way to speak with Shianni.

Rolling her eyes, she let out an exasperated sigh. What the hell did she care how she looked in comparison to Anora? Anora had never wielded anything but her tongue. Neria was a battle mage, renowned throughout Thedas. Who cared if her feet were dirty? She instinctively reached for the vile of blood, hanging between her breasts and squeezed the amulet. She was a Grey Warden and that alone made her better than that twit. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to convince herself even as she knew she'd probably never be able to.

"If I may be so bold," the guardsman spoke quietly, "I think you're lovely."

Despite how inappropriate his comment had been, Neria couldn't help but smile. She turned toward the guard who'd posted himself next the throne. A smile was fitted on his handsome mouth and she arched a brow. "Remember what we talked about earlier, guardsman."

He winked and she narrowed her eyes, wondering if it was some kind of conspiracy. Handsome men with quick tongues and devilish smiles would surely be the end of her.

"Neria?" The unmistakable timbre of Alistair's voice reached her ears like a whisper from the Fade.

For that single moment, when her name rolled off of his lips every bone in her body relaxed. Before the exhaustion of loneliness could consume her, she remembered her place. She was a powerful Grey Warden and he a king. That was all. Neria straightened and renewed her resolve as she turned and stood before Alistair.

If the cost of looking had been blindness, she still would've dared a look. Alistair hadn't changed at all. His hair was still cut the same way. His clean shaven jaw tensed as he swallowed hard. She traced the lines of his neck, admiring the flesh peaking between the slight 'v' collar of his dark blue tunic. Blue always did suit him. Her eyes drifted down his chest to the silver sash tied around his hips, down the muscular thighs straining against his brown, form fitting trousers, and finally resting on his fine dark leather boots. From the looks of them, they were Antivan leather. A gift from Zeveran perhaps?

His gray eyes studied her with just as much attention to detail and her skin warmed, and she almost forgot who they'd become, the events that shaped them over the last couple years. For a moment, she almost let herself feel the way she had back when he'd gifted her hot looks from across the camp fire. Back then everything had seemed so simple even as they regularly complicated themselves. But things were different now and she had to remember that if she was going to keep her head and heart clear of this meeting.

Going rigid, she met his gray eyes and took a knee before him. "Your majesty." She lowered her head, ignoring the stale taste the words left in her mouth.

Alistair froze as if he'd been struck, but recovered quickly enough to paste a sheepish grin on his face. "Your Warden-ess."

Neria's grip on her staff tightened, but she kept her expression neutral as she stood. "Shall we discuss your summons?"

Alistair's bright eyes seemed to darken as he swept them over her. Neria resisted the urge to shift beneath his scrutiny and instead lifted her chin, arching her brow slightly as if she dared him to crack another ridiculous joke. There was no warmth, no friendship to be had between them and she would not give him reason to assume she'd forgiven him. Not that he'd ever asked to be forgiven. If anything, he'd met her attempt to discuss what had happened between them with a rushed dismissal. Neria hardened her gaze as Alistair crossed the distance of the throne room to stand before her.

"How are you?" He asked quietly, his gaze searching her expression.

"Alive and well as you can no doubt see." Neria answered quickly, straightening even further in attempt to ward off the heat emanating from his body.

"When I heard you'd joined the Dalish, I couldn't believe it. I always figured you would stay here in Denerim and participate in some of the changes you help bring about." He remarked cordially. "Shianni has done much for the elves here."

"Shianni is a wise and strong woman. The elven people could not have a better spokesperson for their cause."

They stood in silence. Alistair gazing down upon her as she looked up at him. A part of her wanted to look away. Alistair had always seemed like the sun to her. So bright. So beautiful. And at times too much for her eyes to bear. Even now, his energy and his warmth seeped into her bones and threatened to undermine the strength she so desperately needed. She did not enjoy being bitter, she didn't enjoy the gnarled pain surrounding her heart, and she wise enough to know that what happened couldn't have happened any other way. She was always telling her people that though they could choose their paths, they were just as powerless when it came to how those paths would unwind. And yet, she just couldn't surrender. She couldn't let the pain of his betrayal go. She just couldn't. Maybe because it was all she had as selfish and ungrateful as it sounded.

Finally, Alistair let out a breath of air. "You're not happy to see me, are you?"

"No." She titled her head, "Now, I should like to discuss why you ordered a company of soldiers to track me down."

"Neria, I…" Alistair fell quiet, a shadow passed over his expression.

"Your majesty," Neria took some comfort in the fact that this meeting seemed to be just as awkward and painful for him as it was for her, "there are those who depend on my presence. I am a keeper now and I do not want to spend any more time than necessary away from them. If there is nothing else, I should like to be dismissed. I would ask that you work out your thoughts before you summon me again," she paused and sucked in a steadying breath, "or next time I shall not allow myself to be so easily found."

"Maker's breath, Neria," Alistair sighed heavily, "you're not exactly making this easy on me."

"With all due respect, your majesty, it is not my place to make anything easy on you." Neria snapped, her grip tightening around her staff. "I don't owe you anything." With that, Neria spun on her heel, cursing herself for even bothering to come.

A painfully familiar hand closed around her arm, halting her. "Please…don't go."

A shock of awareness jolted down her spine and flashes of the nights they'd spent entwined in her tent, beneath the stars, assaulted her. Anger rose up from the depth of her heart to greet the unwanted memories and she wrenched her arm from his grasp as though his mere touch had scorched her. "I beg your pardon, your majesty, but I must ask you to refrain from touching me."

No, she would never be so foolish again. It was not as though she bared any ill will toward Alistair, she had not become so bitter as to wish for any misfortune upon him, but she would never count him amongst her friends. And he would never lay hands upon her again.

The air vibrated with tension and she could feel his gaze bearing into her spine. She half expected him to back down, to apologize stupidly and allow her to leave. That is the Alistair she knew. Or at least, that was the Alistair she needed him to be right now. Her control on her emotions was straining. And she did not wish to shame the many people who have commended her for her show of mercy, compassion and diplomacy over the last years. She would not let this man, if any man, drive her to dishonoring their praise. She would be better than this.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, your majesty." Neria barely managed two steps before Alistair's voice sliced through the room.

"You're to accompany me and my men to Amaranthine, to greet the wardens who have come to aid in dealing with the remaining pockets of darkspawn threatening Ferelden." His voice was uncharacteristically hard, and for a moment she was overcome with disbelief. The Alistair she knew would never speak to her in such a way. But then, he'd proven a long time ago that she didn't and had never really known him.

Though every bone in her body cried out in protest, Neria gritted her teeth and tried for calm even as anger urged the flame of magic with in her. She could burn him to a crisp with a thought. And it was a tempting one. "And what of my clan? Am I to leave them without guidance simply because you command me to do so? You may be King of Ferelden, but you are no more my master than any other shemlen." Her voice was venomous and though she truly despised the word, she found herself reveling in the satisfaction that its use had further alienated her from the man she'd once called "love."

"Regardless, I am king and you are still a Grey Warden. It is your duty." He spoke softly. "I know I can no more force you to do this than the chantry could convince me of their justifications for the cruelty they condoned against mages. But do this for me…for Ferelden, Neria, and I will grant the Dalish lands of their own as a just reward."

Rage sung to live beneath her skin. How dare he blackmail her with the fate of her people? Now even if she wanted to run him through with a shard of ice, she couldn't. She could never live with herself if she refused this opportunity to give her people a home at last. And he well knew it.

"Damn you." She whispered and squeezed her eyes shut. Gods give her strength.

"You can hardly blame me." His words were just as soft as hers had been.

Gathering every molecule of control she could, Neria forced her tone even and tipped her head in acknowledgement. "Very well, your maj-."

"Alistair. My name, as you well know, is Alistair."

Regardless of the rage steaming within her, she took comfort in the state of her composure. "Yes, I do know." With that, she fled the throne room, eager to rid herself of the urge to speak his name. She didn't trust herself not to like the way it tasted on her tongue. And she had no intention of flirting with heartbreak again. Darkspawn, maybe. Another arch-demon, perhaps. But never again with love.


Other note(s):

Shianni: She is the red-headed elf in the Denerim alienage. She is the one who was suspicious of the so-called "magical cure" from the plague, offered by the tevinter mages, i.e. slavers.

Logain: In this story, Logain was slain by the warden, not Alistair during the landsmeet.

Author's Note: So what did we think? Yay? Nay? Should I continue it?