Summary: The world knows of Alistair, Zevran, Leliana, and Morrigan. But what of those who came before...?

Disclaimer: Repeat after me: I own zilch.

Queen's Quornor: Now for the Tabris interest. I think I'm going to stick to the female POV, simply because there are more early romantic options if you play a woman. The only issue is going to be the Cousland double-option, and I'm not entirely certain which I'm going to pick. Maybe I'll flip a coin... Anyway, I didn't like the idea of the arranged unions the first time I played as the city elf, but I was pleasantly surprised when the PC met Nelaros. He's not so bad, and I felt terrible when he was killed. Barring the love-at-first-sight thing, I doubt there was really any chance the PC had any time to develop real feelings for him. I bet she would be thinking about what would have happened if she had married him, and never been conscripted. She knew very little about him, but plenty about what he represented.

Nelaros

The Dalish are luckier than they know. They are free to live as they will, eat what they please, and go wherever they wish. They do not have to fear humans prowling through their homes, culling their freedoms and their lives. They do not have to constantly worry about a knife in the dark, or the painful attentions of a lustful lord.

Dalish are free to taste the wind, worship our gods, and love whom they will.

I think that was what bothered me the most about life in the Alienage. No matter what I wanted, my life was beyond my control. My mother taught me to fight, to free myself should some human bastard clap me in irons. She gave me the tools I needed to make my own future, yet it still was not mine. It devastated me when she was killed, because my greatest defender was no more. Mother wanted me to choose my own husband, not be shuffled around for the children I might bear. I remember well her heated arguments with Father about auctioning me off like some brood mare, how she demanded I be allowed to remain in Denerim.

Father agreed with her on that point. But he still spent a great deal of carefully-saved coin to find a groom I might find acceptable. At least I was not alone, though I truly regret that Father could not spare much for Soris' bride.

Did everybody expect me to be so shallow, I would accept a man based solely on his appearance? I was relieved that Father had found me a handsome groom, but I hated the situation. I despise the idea of arranged marriage. We elves are allowed so few freedoms; must we relinquish our right to happiness with a man or woman of our own choosing? Hahren Valendrian says true happiness comes when we make the most of a situation we are given, but how can I believe that when I see the emotional, sometimes physical, wreckage of a mismatched couple? My parents were the exception, not the rule. I did not want to become a bitter woman like Elva, raising a child while my man squanders our precious coin on ale and the occasional flea-ridden whore.

So I was pleasantly surprised when I met Nelaros. He was certainly handsome - half of the Alienage's women were happy at my "good fortune," the other half hated me for getting such a man - and he seemed genuinely interested in making the marriage work. Most surprising to me, I glimpsed a kind of quiet strength in his eyes, which flared so brightly when the arl's son came to take us away. Aside from my cousins and Valendrian, I had not seem such strength since my mother left for her final day. It intrigued me, and I wanted to know more about this man I was to marry.

My interest only grew when Soris found us in the arl's palace and said Nelaros had orchestrated the rescue, that he was guarding our escape route. I had never met a man who was my fighting equal, elf or human; I was very interested in my cousin's description of his skill in battle. I began to think that, perhaps, this match was not so bad. Maybe I could fall in love with a man who would kill to save me from harm.

Those innocent hopes were dashed when we arrived at the main hall, and my courageous groom was cut down before my eyes.

I do not remember much of that fight. I only recall the aftermath, when I knelt beside his broken body and found the ring waiting in his pocket. It was a simple band of silver, but it represented so very much. He had carried it all the way from Highever to slip onto my finger, perhaps even forged it himself in his father's smithy; how many of his hopes and fears might he have whispered to this ring, looking at it while the merchant caravan bounced ever closer to Denerim and his future?

If only jewelry could talk.

I kept the ring when we fled the estate. It remained in my pack after Duncan conscripted me, and I forgot it. I only rediscovered it today, when Odin went snooping for the bone I found in Redcliffe. Now it lays in my cupped hands, catching what little light slips through my tent. It is a very polished piece of jewelry.

This is probably the only wedding ring I will ever receive. As much as I love him, I cannot see Zevran ever proposing. He is worldly compared to Nelaros, and unbelievably skilled in private. He is a true match for me in combat, though I will never be quite the assassin he is. My Antivan lover is everything I could have wanted in a man but never thought to find.

I still cannot stop myself from wondering about my almost-husband. Soris said he fought like a demon; I know he was a fairly accomplished smith, so where did he learn to wield a sword? What other secrets were there for me to find in our life together? Would I have really been happy with him?

Maker only knows what would have happened if Bann Vaughan hadn't walked through the Alienage that day.

The ring is so heavy in my palm. It is a tiny shackle, linking me to hopes that will never be realized, regrets that only hold me back. How can I mourn a man I met only hours before his death?

Zevran does not stir as I leave the tent. It's his own fault for being such a good teacher, and my reward for being a diligent student. I wonder if any of his previous conquests ever managed to put him to sleep like this?

Morrigan is sitting near the fire, scratching Odin's ears while she keeps watch. She inclines her head slightly in my direction, but otherwise does not acknowledge my prescence. To her, someone rising in the middle of the night is not cause for questioning. It is assumed that he or she is simply visiting a bush.

There is a small pond not far from our favorite campsite, one which is deep and surprisingly clear of scum. Most of us prefer bathing in the stream a short distance away, so this pool is usually left alone.

I look at the ring gleaming in my palm and remember his handsome face, the nervous smile he gave me at our first meeting, the way his eyes lit when I mounted the platform beside him. I recall the strength in his long fingers when he took my hand at the humans' intrusion, how he tried to hold me back when I challenged the bann.

Then I rear back, and throw the ring into the pond.

It makes the smallest disturbance, but the ripples spread to make the water tremble all the same. I listen to the tiny waves lapping at the banks, then tip my head back with my eyes shut.

Fare you well, Nelaros.