Edited (cut down, mostly, for easier reading) February 27, 2011.
Minor edits (spelling, form breaks, etc.) October 12, 2011.

Thank you to mutive for the tips, though I am ashamed to say I didn't follow them all, mostly out of laziness. They were helpful and very appreciated though, so thanks, again!

Prologue

Civil war averted.

Ferelden united.

An archdemon slain.

The Blight ended.

Together, Maric's bastard son and Loghain's daughter on the throne.

These are tales of which the bards already sing of, the Dalish storytellers narrate, the historians of the Chantry and the Shaperate record dutifully, and the ordinary person embellishes to friends and family.

But what happens when the dust settles, when the euphoria of victory, of being alive, subsides to a faint murmur? These, these are tales which have yet to be told, yet to be played out. For the heroes at the center of it all, these are not tales; they are not even legends, nor myths, nor even an epic song. It is life. They had shed blood, sweat, and tears for their country, and will continue to do so, for it is their calling.

But nobody ever told them it would be easy.

For Melisende Cousland, fighting in the shadows of two great men, the mage Tristan Amell and soon to be king, Alistair, peace couldn't come soon enough. When it did come, after Tristan slew the archdemon at the top of Fort Drakon, peace was nothing as she had imagined it to be.

In the days after the Blight, Melisende walked around court in a daze. She felt empty, hopeless. There was nothing for her to do anymore. She wished she could venture into the deep roads and end her life. Nobody knew she felt this way. She hid her despair behind smiles and pleasantries and deep down inside she felt that nobody cared. She had to leave. She couldn't stay at court anymore. Her only option was to go home.

…

On her way home to Highever, Melisende found herself stopping in front of the ruins of Cousland Castle. It had been a little over a year since the attack, yet it was only now slowly being rebuilt.

For a moment, Melisende stood rooted to the ground, unable to move. She took in the sight of her old home. It was nothing like she remembered. There was no joy in the scene, no love. There was only sadness, anger, and an overwhelming sense of hatred for the perpetrator of the crime.

She thought she would be able to move on after getting revenge, but it was very hard. Everything had gone wrong for her. She had lost most of her family, the first man she had ever loved, and her purpose in life had disappeared along with the Blight. It made her feel like an old woman, though in a perfect world, she would have been just embarking on life, with a husband, maybe even a child or two. Rendon Howe was gone, but she was not happy.

Melisende took a deep breath, then ventured into the ruins. She went as far as the library and then stopped. She could go no further. She couldn't bear it. Her chest felt about to burst. She picked up a scrap of an old book. The edges were burnt and the words were barely readable, yet she recognized it. It was the first book she had ever read. Her memories of her family, their terrible deaths consumed her mind in a miasma of terror. She felt their deaths, their pain. She burst into uncontrollable tears, the book falling from her hands with a thud.

"Sister, is that you?" she heard. She tried to stop sobbing, to stop shaking, for she did not want to be seen this way. She felt a hand touch gently upon her shoulder and it only made her sob even more as she turned and saw her brother Fergus.

"My little Mel, you are home," he said as he enfolded her in his arms in comfort. He held her for a few moments as she composed herself enough to talk.

"Fergus, what are you doing here? I thought you were staying in town…" she asked him. She hadn't seen him since the coronation.

"I'm overseeing the reconstruction," he replied. "It's hard, isn't it?"

"More than I ever expected."

"People tell me to remember how they lived, but all I can imagine is their deaths. I wasn't there… but…"

"You wish you were?" Melisende interrupted. Fergus nodded. He had been on his way to Ostagar when Rendon Howe betrayed their family, sacking the castle and murdering every inhabitant. Melisende had been lucky to make it out alive.

"Yes. Maybe they would still be alive…" Fergus said sadly. Melisende's cheeks ran rampant with tears again.

"Oren." Melisende whispered as she glimpsed a miniature soldier in the clutches of Fergus's right hand.

"Just a boy…" Fergus closed his eyes, visibly pained at the mention of his son's name. Neither Melisende nor Fergus had had a chance to really grieve the loss of their families. Melisende had been busy dealing with the Blight and Fergus had been badly wounded at Ostagar. For Melisende, her grief seemed to be resurfacing after being asleep for a good while.

"Some would say time heals all, but I say that is rubbish," she said, wiping her face of her tears, which had slowed to a trickle, leaving her feeling hollow. Anger moved into that void now.

"And father would say that it is what we do in that time which allows us to heal…" Fergus replied. Father, oh Maker, she thought. She remembered the secret smile of knowing Bryce Cousland used to flash her after sneaking off to train with Fergus. Her mother Eleanor had not wanted her to play with swords and daggers but to grow up a proper noble lady. Melisende had resigned herself to that fate her mother had wanted for her, to become the wife of a noble. So long as she got to sneak around, spying and causing mischief in the meantime, she would do what her mother wanted later. But that never came to be.

"I wish to go, let us go." Melisende begged. She needed to get out of there. The memories were stifling her, enraging her. She feared she would snap if she spent one more minute there.

"As you wish." Fergus agreed. They left the ruins of their childhood home with heavy hearts.

…

Even in Highever, however, she couldn't be at peace with herself. She saw ghosts of her family everywhere. She saw what could have been but was not. She drank more than she ever did before. Maker, I am becoming like Oghren, wallowing in self-pity. But there was nothing she could do, nor did she even feel like doing anything about herself. She would live out what years she had left as a drunk, then go end it all in the deep roads, preferably by running headlong into an embrace with an ogre. Melisende locked herself in her rooms all day, coming out only at night to practice her fighting skills, in a drunken stupor no less. Fergus tried to convince her that heroes did not act this way. I'm no hero, she would say, Tristan is the hero, bugger off, and go bug him, Fergus.

A few weeks passed. Melisende continued her downward spiral. Letters from Alistair piled up in her doorway. She ignored them. She used some of them for kindling. A messenger brought an urgent message from him one day, but Melisende chased the messenger away with a dagger. A week later, another came, this time from Tristan, again marked urgent by the messenger.

"Oh Maker, what do they want from me? Why can't they just leave me alone?" she exclaimed, furiously. She threw the letter in the corner, told the messenger to leave, and took a nap. When she awoke, she grabbed a bottle of ale and took a big gulp. The letter from Tristan seemed to glare at her. It gave her an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Ugh!" she threw the bottle of ale on the floor, shattering it and spilling the contents all over the floor. She walked to the corner, grabbed the letter, breathed a heavy sigh, and opened it.

Melisende,

Nobody has heard from you for a few months. It seems to me you may have some inner demons still troubling you. We all do, trust me. But I am not writing to you only out of concern for your wellbeing, although there have been rumours trickling to Denerim. Suffice it to say we are all worried. The thing is, the King has appointed me as Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, as you already know. It is about high time I make my way to Amaranthine and start rebuilding the order. We must forever remain vigilant, though the blight has ended. Melisende, I need you. You are a Grey Warden. It is your duty to accompany me. Need I remind you it is up to you and I only to rebuild a whole order? The king has other duties, no doubt. So, as your commander, I am ordering you to Vigil's Keep, but as your friend, I am begging you to come, for I need you, and believe it or not, I really do miss you. Report to me as soon as possible. I am already on my way to the arling. –Tristan.

"Pfft. He needs me?" Melisende put the letter down. She was grateful that Tristan never mentioned Alistair by name.

"That charming devil," she said to herself as she pondered the letter. It is nice to be needed, but the snake also ordered me to go, she thought. How clever indeed. Despite her annoyance, Melisende began to feel something. She hadn't felt anything for a long while. A purpose was building up inside of her. What was she doing here? Being an embarrassment to Fergus? To herself? She couldn't bear to look at herself anymore. Now, however, she had something to look towards, and it was a start. She couldn't be like this anymore. She wouldn't be like this anymore.

"If he wants me to go, if he orders me to go, then by the Maker I shall go to Amaranthine," she said to herself. Yes, it was indeed good to have a purpose again. It was a start, at the very least.

…

"Fergus, I am truly sorry for what I have become," Melisende said as she embraced her brother the next day. "I have blackened the Cousland name."

"Nonsense," he replied. "You have been a hero. You have helped to end the Blight. You killed the viper!"

How tactful, she thought, he is avoiding the fact that I have become a drunken recluse these past few weeks.

"You know what I mean, brother."

"Melisende, we all have our dark moments. Believe me, when I thought I was all that was left of the Couslands, when I heard what had happened to my wife, my son, I wished death upon myself. But my sense of duty saved me. I got through it. You will too. Redemption is always a possibility, my little sister."

"You are right. I have become selfish. I never thought of what you went through…"

"Enough," Fergus held up his hand. "All is well now. And I believe you have somewhere to be, no?"

Melisende laughed. "Yes, I do. I will miss you Fergus. Will you remarry?"

"It is good to see you laugh," he smiled. "But as to answer your question, I suppose I will have to remarry one day. But for now, I must rebuild the castle, as you must rebuild the Grey Wardens. There are wenches a plenty to satisfy me for now."

"Oh, you are impossible, Fergus!"

"Fare you well my sister. Remember you are always welcome here."

"Thank you, I will remember that. Goodbye, for now."

With a renewed sense of purpose stirring inside of her being, Melisende set off on her journey to the arling of Amaranthine.