My thanks to the writers at Bioware for developing such a fantastic story and such wonderful characters. David, Mary and Sheryl particular thanks for your time spent answering questions on the forums prior to the games release. My apologies for any liberties taken within my interpretation of the characters. Apologies also for horses and cloaks- it is much easier for me to write them in a story than it is for designers to put them in the game.

Readers note: I have labeled the story as mature because I am not sure what will be in future chapters. Strong language and violence are likely, explicit content is not (okay maybe a little — Zevran is in the story after all). Constructive criticism is very welcome, as this is the first creative writing I have submitted for review since high school English (a very long time ago). All of my college writing was technical in nature and I have only written for myself in the years since graduation.

I have done some serious editing since "Awakening" came out, both for story consistency and to decrease the excess angst and tighten up the prose. For those of you who have been following the story no major changes have been made.

A Grey Warden's Honor

Chapter 1- Heir

Aithne closed her eyes wearily for a moment and stretched. She had just set the new trade agreement with Orlais aside for the ink to dry. All that was left now was for Alistair to sign it. He should be back from his latest trip to Redcliffe and the Bannorn any day now. She shook her head, no thoughts of Alistair, he was married now and she was just the Chancellor. Pushing her chair back she glanced about her. There were thick rugs on the floor, rich tapestries on the walls, ornate carvings, so far from a simple Dalish clan. What would they think of her now she wondered? Aithne had never returned. She was so far from the innocent child who had left the forest. Never to be a simple hunter again, the silent communion with nature, the feel of moist loam beneath her feet, the musky scent of rotting leaves — so far from the stone and noise of the city.

She rose, walked over to the large window and stared out toward the Amaranthine Ocean. The winter winds were pushing white caps into the bay, light rain spat at the windows and there was a tang of ozone in the air — storm tonight. Alistair had chosen this office for her, "I know it is not much, but at least you can look out on something besides the streets of Denerim, my dear." He had looked away, voice breaking. "It is the least I can do for you."

Caressing the windowsill she remembered, it had been only a week since the defeat of the Archdemon. Even in the frantic pace of trying to find food, medicine and shelter for the displaced population of Denerim and organizing help for those returning to their homes to the south he had found time to do this simple thing for her. Alistair had turned back to her, "I …" stopping he had reached out and crushed her to him. It had been their last kiss, tender, yearning, but as tumultuous as the angry sea.

They had stepped apart, wanting more, knowing it could not be. "Alistair, you are king now, the nobles would not allow it…, and you need a legitimate heir." The words tasted sour as ashes in her mouth, true though they were. Honor was all they had left, was all they could have.

"You know I never wanted this, there was just no other way." The weariness of the last year seemed to fall upon him. He had left then, shoulders bowed with the weight of responsibility, and she had not cried, not then.

Her reverie was disturbed by the creak of the door. Alistair stepped in, dripping rain from his travels. He always sought her out as soon as he returned, before poor Rothana, his wife. "I trust you have been well." His rich voice both a balm and an aching pain. The tension flowed between them as it always did.

"I just finished the Orlesian treaty — the terms are very favorable to Fereldan. The Orlesian ambassador was most accommodating after the little matter of the spies Zevran caught was brought to his attention." Her voice was level, professional, after four long years of practice. "Leliana has returned, Genitivi is still studying the temple, but there has been no sign of the Ashes reappearing. I trust all is well with Teagan and his wife."

"Teagan and Kaitlyn send their best wishes. It's good to hear Leliana is back, I find that I even miss that silly nug of hers sometimes." Their conversation was light, never touching deeper things. "I am sure the Orlesian treaty is well done, you always take good care of Ferelden. I can sign it now if you would like." Alistair stripped off his gloves and went to the desk.

Light footsteps in the corridor alerted them both before Rothana stepped into the room. "I heard you were back darling, and…."

Alistair went to his wife and gently took her hands. "What is it?" Rothana was a beautiful woman, tall, dark hair, and rich brown eyes. Athletic and accomplished she could run the domestic affairs of the castle and still hit a target at 100 paces with an arrow. Regret pierced his heart, she deserved so much more than his kind affection.

"Alistair," she hesitated, leaning forward so only he could hear, "we are going to have a baby."

"Baby…, you're pregnant? Thank the Maker, after all this time I was afraid it would never happen." He drew his wife into his arms and kissed her soundly. Arm curled around his wife, he then turned to Aithne. "A father, I'm going to be a father!"

"Congratulations, my Lord, my Lady, I am so happy for you." It had happened at last, a child conceived; one Aithne could never have given him. Ferelden would have a legitimate heir.

Rothana reveled in her husband's embrace. It was so rare for him to spontaneously turn to her. She had fallen for the handsome King shortly after he had taken the throne and Arl Eamon had introduced them. She had not realized at the time that his love was given elsewhere. It had taken all of her willpower and training as a noble lady not to be bitter and spiteful, but in truth Aithne and Alistair had behaved with complete honor in all the time she had been married. It was just hard to compete with the savior of Fereldan, particularly when she was a beautiful elf. Hugging her husband hard to bring his attention back to her (and to the now somewhat noticeable bump in her belly), Rothana spoke. "I thought I might be pregnant when you left last time, but it was too early to tell for sure. I didn't want to disappoint you if I was wrong."

Alistair smiled down at his wife, "Let's see, that was three months ago, so our child will be due in the spring, Drakonis or Cloudreach I think. A father…, I just can't believe it."

"Cloudreach, just in time for spring. Come with me my lord. Let's get you out of these wet clothes." Rothana gently guided her stammering husband from the room.

Aithne remained at the window, her fingers white in their grip on the sill. She should be happy, the throne would be secure, Alistair a father at last. The culmination of things that had been set in motion at Landsmeet all those years ago had been achieved. This was what they had sacrificed their love for, a legitimate heir and dynastic stability for Ferelden.

Instead all of the pain of losing Alistair boiled up. Rothana had the man she loved and the child she could never have given him. What would it have felt like to carry his child beneath her heart? In some ways it was worse than the night of Alistair's wedding. Demons summoned forth, she thought, looking back on that night three years ago.

All of Ferelden had celebrated the marriage of their king. The atmosphere in Denerim thrummed with excitement. A handsome king who had defeated the blight, a beautiful queen who had defended her fathers holding in the Bannorn. It was a fairy tale come true, for everyone but the participants. Aithne had attended the marriage in the packed great hall, outwardly cheerful in support of Alistair, defying rumors of their affair. He had put on a lighthearted demeanor; only someone who knew him well could see the strain beneath the façade. Her control had been perfect, no sign showed of what it cost her to be there.

When Alistair and Rothana finally left her resolve broke, making excuses she slipped from the feast hall with a bottle of wine and made her way to the top of a tower, far from the revelry below. With the soft night wind in her hair and reinforced by a large quantity of wine she finally broke.

With racking, heaving sobs she had cried at last, cried for what was and for what could never be. Cried with the pain of a broken heart; the agony of sacrificing happiness for honor and duty for happiness. If only she could go back to that awful night before the last battle; tell Morrigan no, sacrifice herself to the Archdemon instead of making that dreadful deal. But the risk of losing Alistair had been too much, for her and for Ferelden. She had railed against the unfairness of it after all they had been through. Now it seemed so futile, the risk of the child becoming another Archdemon, for what? Happiness she would never have.

Zevran had come, had held her, told her bawdy stories from his childhood and his time as a Crow. Helped her finish the wine bottle and brought another. They sat together at the top of the tower that long night, his friendship a salve on an open wound. Awakening the next morning she found herself in her own bed, dwarven smiths pounding in her head, with Zev asleep in the chair by the fire. She had teased him about missing his opportunity with a voice ragged from tears. He had smiled and said it would ruin his reputation to take advantage of a very drunk woman. Ah, Zevran, he had been her rock. He had stayed after the blight and become head of security for the royal palace at her request; Aithne doubted that even she could slip past the measures the assassin had taken to protect the king.

As if her thoughts had summoned him she felt massaging fingers on her tight shoulders. "You look like you need a drink," he said, guiding her to her chair. He fished the bottle of Highever single malt out of her desk drawer and poured them both a measure. "I hear congratulations are in order for our king."

Aithne took a swallow, the whisky burning its way down. "Indeed, the babe is due in Cloudreach." She took another swig, then refilled her glass and drank again.

"I thought as much, she has been showing signs for some time now. The babe is his, Rothana has been faithful." He shifted his weight uneasily. "You know, you only drink like this when he is in Denerim."

"Andraste's Ashes Zev, you poured it for me."

"You needed it." Shifting again he regarded her with uncharacteristic gravity. "This has to end; it is tearing both of you apart. Alistair can't really be king and you are destroying yourself a little at a time. This is a chance for him to have a real marriage, but it's not going to happen if you stay. If you both were not so stiff with honor you could be his mistress and it might work, but I know you both, it won't happen."

Zevran's voice caught a bit, perhaps it was the whisky. "You run the kingdom for him and he stays away from Denerim because he can't stand to be here. Rothana is a good woman and is caught in the middle of it. What will happen when the babe arrives and its father is never here?" His glass clattering as he slammed it down on the desk, Zevran stood abruptly.

Aithne froze, shocked by his words, they echoed with the truth, but as a knife to her heart. "Zevran, but I…, he needed my help…."

"Maybe, and maybe you just couldn't stand to let go. I know about Morrigan, I don't blame you for that, it was a choice I would have made." Anger now clear on his fine elven features he continued. "You, the noble Dalish, never bow to anyone, are a slave to your obsession, with Alistair and with your honor. I have watched this long enough, I am leaving."

"Zevran, no…" this was a side of her dear friend she had never seen before.

"You have a choice, stay here and ruin both your lives or leave, come with me if you wish. I won't stay and be party to this any longer." Zevran swept out of the room, jaw tight with suppressed emotion. She would come or she would stay. He had said his piece, had been planning it for a long time. He hadn't planned to be so harsh, but perhaps it was better this way. She would not come and he would be safe, could drown his sorrows in the arms of other women. If her green eyes haunted him, well he had other regrets.

Aithne sat frozen at her desk old hurts long buried clawed their way to the surface. Honor, the double edged sword rent her heart. Could she abandon her king, her love, for honor? What about friendship, what about Zev? Always her path had been clear. True, there had been some harsh choices, but mostly they had worked out well. What now? Was she truly not needed? Could Alistair step fully into the kingship if she were not there?

Opening a tattered notebook she retrieved her most precious possession, a dried rose. Most of its petals shattered and gone, dried and withered it was a ghost of its former beauty. Much like her time with Alistair she mused. She carefully returned the remains of the rose to its place in the book. Aithne faced the bitter dregs, perhaps she had done much more harm than good in not sacrificing herself, in staying near Alistair. Pulling a fresh sheet of vellum out, she grasped the quill with shaking hands.

"Dear Alistair, I have to go. I do not think I will return. May you find happiness and joy in your wife and child. I cannot remain a burden on your heart forever."

She wanted to say so much more, but it was better left unsaid. No, she could not do it, crumpling the letter she threw it in the fire. He deserved better. She would tell him, but in the morning. Tonight was for the King and Queen to celebrate.

Taking a deep breath she tried to step back into the calm center that had sheltered her all these years. It was easier not to feel, not to care. Armor her heart against the pain and cover herself with the shield of duty. She should have the technique perfect by now. Her armor had been built bit by bit since that fateful day at Landsmeet. Alistair had set her aside for duty and she had agreed.

She stopped to knock on a door in the private wing set aside for their companions. "Leliana, are you there?"

"Come in" the Orlesian bard's musical voice called.

"I have a favor to ask of you, I would like you to stay in Denerim to help Alistair. I have to go…away."

"So, it has finally come, you are leaving." Leliana did not look surprised, merely sad. "I thought it might, particularly with the child coming."

"You know too?" Rothana had only told Alistair this evening. "Do the rumors fly that fast?"

"Half of Denerim has suspected for months. Perhaps only you and Alistair were unaware? That is part of why I came back. I thought you might need a friend." Compassion resounded in her words, striking Aithne in her already battered heart.

"You thought…, oh what a fool I have been. Help him, Leli, please."

"I will do my best, but I think he will not need so much help. He is King now and he needs to truly rule. Zevran asked me to take over security so at least I will keep him safe." Leliana paused, unsure of what to say to her friend.

"Zevran asked…, oh so I am the last one to know anything. Even about myself, good old Aithne, she will always do what is right." Damn Zevran anyway, "serves him right if the Crows get him after all these years."

"Do not judge him so harshly! Do you think it has been easy for any of us to sit and watch you and Alistair torture each other all this time? At least Zevran has finally forced you to do something about it. He is a better friend than you know." Leliana caught herself before she shared her private suspicions with her friend — now was definitely not the time.

Aithne's anger cooled as quickly as it had been raised. What was wrong with her tonight? Her friends were trying to help and all she was doing was push them away. "I am sorry Leli, I did not mean that about Zev, he has always stood by me."

"You will tell Alistair in the morning, yes?" Leliana took a deep breath. "Talk to Zevran tonight, go with him when you leave. At least you won't be alone on the road."

Leli's arrows always hit their mark, Aithne essayed a weak smile. "I will talk to Zev tonight if you think I should. Alistair…, I will talk to him in the morning. Good night, and Leli, I want you to know I will always treasure your friendship." Aithne turned and closed the door behind her, taking a deep breath she steeled herself to talk to her closest friend.

Zevran sat in his chamber staring at the fire, listening to the rain outside the shutters. He was packed, he should go. It was cold and wet, perhaps leaving in the morning would be a better idea. Why did one woman, of all of those he had known, matter so much? Hell, he had never even bedded her. Her fire had gotten into his blood; perhaps it was when she spared his life, perhaps somewhere in all the desperate traveling and fighting to stop the blight. Perhaps it was that everyone mattered to her, commoner, noble, elf, dwarf, qunari, human, golem, even the misanthropic witch.

For the first time in his life Zevran found someone who truly cared about him — not about what he could be used for or who he could be used against. That was what held their little group of misfits together — Aithne cared about all of them. She had done more, she had required all of them to care, to see that the blight was bigger than any one of them. Zevran thought the last was perhaps the key. If she had not made him care, he would have left long ago.

A door shut down the corridor and he sensed as much as heard the light steps. The footsteps stopped outside his door. "Come in" he did not wait for her to knock.

Stepping into his chamber Aithne was unsure of the reception she would receive. After his harsh words earlier, she had no idea whether he would even wish to talk. She glanced at him, lounging in his chair, Antivan wine in hand. The firelight reflected on the angular planes of his face, in his deep amber eyes. How many times had they sat there and talked until the wee hours of the morning? Feeling awkward she sat down.

"You must think me a fool and a coward." Aithne finally broke the silence. "I made a mess of things by surviving the Archdemon then I can't even end things as I should, all I have caused is pain by staying."

"You are the bravest woman I know. You faced down an Archdemon, for Makers sake! Yes, you are a fool sometimes, but so are we all. You have never been a coward though, never." He could see the sorrow in her eyes. Not now he thought. If she cries I will take back all I have said, all I should have said these long years. Slipping into a mischievous grin he continued. "A brave fool you are, alone in the night with Zevran the notorious Crow assassin. Will he finish his contract, or ravish you instead?"

Aithne smiled a little in spite of herself. Trust Zev to lighten the mood. Did the man ever take anything seriously? Then she frowned, he had been all too somber earlier that evening. "Zev, why did you never say anything before?"

"About ravishing you — well I did and you said no, I had hoped you had changed your mind." His eyes glinted in the firelight. "But I see that is not what you mean. I had hoped that things would work out somehow for you. My fair Aithne, you deserve happiness if anyone does. I did not wish to cause you more grief." Suddenly he shifted out of his chair and knelt before her, taking her hands. "Will you come with me then? See the beauty of Orlais, the markets of the Free Marches, the wonders of Antiva?"

"Zev, the Crows will have your head if you set foot in Antiva!"

"Ah, but my fair lady, they will not have a chance facing our blades together. After all you already defeated the best of the Crows, who could stand against us?"

"I see I will have to accompany you, just to keep you out of trouble. Otherwise, who knows how many women will be forced to spare your life." It was an old joke between them and it cheered her slightly. Aithne still did not understand his strange behavior. "Zev, get up, I will come with you if it means that much. You were right, I have to go."

Her hands still grasped in his he got to his feet, drawing her along with him. "Yes, it means that much to me. I would do anything to get out of the stink of mud and dogs in Ferelden." His speech was light and jesting, but his eyes were intense and searching. "I will even help you pack, make sure you don't forget your best Orlesian lingerie." He grinned at her lasciviously.

"Zev, you are impossible. Starfang, Thorn — yes, lingerie— no. I will talk to Alistair in the morning, we will leave after that."