This is a song-fic, but before you gag and walk away, please give it one chance.

The song is Little Lion Man from Mumford and Sons (blame my brother lol)

http: / www . Youtube . Com / watch?v = lLJf9qJHR3E copy/paste and remove the spaces if you want to watch the video

As always, I own nothing copyrighted.

Weep for yourself, my man,
You'll never be what is in your heart
Weep, little lion man,
You're not as brave as you were at the start
Rate yourself and rake yourself
Take all the courage you have left
Wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head

A man stands before a mirror, inspecting his royal finery. Broad shoulders are kissed with creamy silk stained burgundy, the gold threaded embellishments twinkling in the morning light. His legs are clad in the finest kidskin breeches and his feet are nestled in soft Orlesian boots. Sun kissed golden locks dance about rakishly as he moves, barely restrained by the ornate circlet upon his brow. A dashing figure he would be indeed, if not for the purple circles encompassing haunted butterscotch and mint leaf colored eyes.

But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn't I, my dear?
Didn't I, my dear?

Memories of an elven woman, quiet but stronger than anyone he'd ever met flash through his whiskey clouded mind. A tired smile threatens chapped lips as he remembers how much of a goddess he believed her to be when she raised her staff above her head and called upon the trio of elemental spells she had dubbed the Perfect Storm.

The way her coppery curls thrashed about her like wild serpents and her emerald orbs flared with vibrant power never failed to make him thrum with need to be close to her, wrapped around her, inside of her. There was no man or woman in all Thedas who could claim him so utterly with a mere look in his direction.

Tremble for yourself, my man,
You know that you have seen this all before
Tremble, little lion man,
You'll never settle any of your scores
Your grace is wasted in your face,
Your boldness stands alone among the wreck
Now learn from your mother or else spend your days biting your own neck

Then her betrayal came and his heart burned to ashes. She'd begged him to trust her, to trust that she was doing the right thing for Ferelden. He'd spit on her and called her a whore. How could she pick Loghain?

They came to be the last words that he would ever speak to her.

But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn't I, my dear?

But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn't I, my dear?
Didn't I, my dear?

She had taken his former companions with her when she marched to Redcliffe, leaving him alone to organize the city's exodus. He'd cursed her every minute of it. Now he wished the Maker hadn't heard those awful prayers. Now all he wanted was for her tiny form to be pressed to his, her arms around him, to hear her velvety voice telling him that things will get better, that she would make sure of it.

But most of all he wishes he could tell her how much he loved her, one last time.

But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn't I, my dear?

But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn't I, my dear?
Didn't I, my dear?

The man takes another drink of the sour grain alcohol and forces himself to smile as he turns from the mirror and follows the faceless servants to the platform that breaks the sea of murmuring masses. As he marches along the slim path set out before him, a shadow catches the corner of his now swimming vision. Copper curls, a long gown of the most intoxicating cut, clinging to every lithe line and curve. A giggle and a flash of green eyes that would charm a god.

Before he can even think her name, a cacophony of trumpeting announces order to the onlookers who stand below, and he nearly buckles under the renewed weight of his self appointed burden. Someone takes a step forward to assist him, but he waves them off and takes a few steadying breaths before rallying his courage and stepping towards the linen covered stone slab sitting in the middle of the raised platform.

"My friends, we are gathered here to pay our respects to the Grey Warden who saved us all..."