What emptiness awaits me? This I fear
Far more than any peril I might face
My purpose in this world became less clear
When you were taken from your cherished place
Within my wishing heart and went your way
So willingly it almost makes me ill

To think it never crossed your mind to stay
Pushes the dagger deep, completes the kill
And yet how much of this was done by me?
Had I the courage would you still have flown?
How sad to think this was not destiny
But my mistake, yet how could I have known?

Now here is my dilemma, as it seems
Do I accept the score that fate has set,
And calmly watch the passing of my dreams
Or do I dare to place another bet
That where the curtain falls another rises
If I am wrong then strike me for my sins

But I believe our acts and thin disguises
Where but a prologue to what now begins

- An Excerpt from the Poem Goodbye by Emilie Autumn

AN: I am almost certain that this has been explored before, though I have not read stories like it in the past. I do not mean to steal anyone's creative thunder, and if elements appear here than you have seen in other stories, I apologize up front, as I was unaware.

With that said, please enjoy reading.

UPDATE: A fierce editing frenzy has come upon me, and for the next several days the earlier chapters will be facing expansion and fixing. I noticed some spelling errors and mix ups on a few of the events the game. I will leave a small note at the top of each chapter to let you know if it has been updated.

For hours, Alistair defended the gates of Denerim against the darkspawn as diligently as any man had ever done before him. He stood amidst the burning buildings of the market district, and true to his word, he stayed with his companions to stop further darkspawn from invading. His sword arm ached, but his spirit urged him to ignore it. The pain only made him fight harder. The splintering shield upon his arm only reminded him that he didn't have long to wait now.

Linara Mahariel had urged him to stay, refused his companionship as she left the gates in order to find the Archdemon. She always moved like the wind, and those that went with her would surely lag behind her on the quest she set herself on. Nothing would stop her.

He begged her to take him with her, told her it would be better if two Grey Wardens went to in case Riordan failed. She wouldn't listen, and she said that Ferelden needed him after this was over. He had to be King… He insisted that the greatest thing he could have ever done for Ferelden was take her place.. She refused to allow him that.

Soon, the Archdemon would be slain. Soon, someone he loved would die. He tried to prepare himself through all of this fighting for the pain that would come when he felt the Archdemon parish, for the woman he loved would go with it. There was nothing worse than knowing it was going to happen other than the moment itself.

The flash of light came suddenly and without warning. Darkspawn were instantly disheartened all around him, and whatever ranks they had formed before dispersed into nothing but frightened children. He felt what he assumed they felt, a schism tearing open in the noise of battle like a great clap of thunder. It rocked him to his core, not because the Archdemon had died, but because Linara was gone. He knew it, and these moments passed by the slowest for him. When the initial shock was over, he dropped to his knees in a two-fold agony.

His body had finally given in when his heart decided to strike him down. His muscles screamed for relief just as his heart crumbled into pieces. Alistair did his best not to cry like a child. The blow from this revelation was sharp and to the point, and every fiber of his being whispered of Linara Mahariel's dying breath, her last words to him, and every single moment they had ever spent together happy.

He could hear her murmuring in his ear that everything would be alright. He wanted to believe for that moment that he would wake up back in Redcliffe, safe and sound in her arms. He wanted it to all be a lie, but there was a bitter echo in the back of his mind that she was gone and never coming back. The blood soaked earth beneath him reminded him of the reality, the weight of his armor bearing down on him like a punishment.

Alistair had learned that the Grey Wardens who perished with the Archdemon were destroyed utterly, their souls sundered by the great power they had defeated. As he gathered himself up, awaiting the return of Wynne, Leiliana, and Sten, he prayed that at least part of her would survive. He wanted her buried properly. Linara deserved better than to be left up there, and he hoped his friends would look away when he cried over her. He wanted to have his time to mourn her passing.

The Palace was cold in the early hours of the morning, hours that Alistair could no longer urge himself to sleep through. He awoke to a cold sweat and a pounding heartbeat, the staggering reality of his dream setting him ill at ease. The draft that came in through the fireplace put a chill down his spine not unlike the dream that continued to haunt him. Sometimes it was different. Instead of being on the field, he had gone with her and dealt the final blow himself. Then he would just dream of her in the same state he was, and his mind would shock him awake to remind him she would never cry like she did in his dreams.

This feeling was similar to what he felt after Duncan and the other Grey Wardens were killed in Loghain's treachery. There was this emptiness deep in his heart, aching to be filled by something, anything that could make it better. When Duncan passed, Linara had been there to lift his spirits. Now, nothing remained. No one was there to pick him up.

It had been six weeks since the Blight had been ended.

Six weeks since Linara had died.

Four weeks since he was crowned king.

Three weeks since Zevran had taken off to do whatever it is Antivans do.

Two weeks since Wynne had announced she would stay at the Palace as his advisor, and he was bloody thankful for that.

It had been one week since Leliana had come to mourn his loss with him after an urgent call to the Chantry. He was thankful for that too.

Morrigan had disappeared after the battle, and he hadn't cared to question why. Why should he when Sten was coming out of Fort Drakon, carrying his lover's lifeless body in his arms in absolute respect? The only thing he had cared about then was Wynne's quiet weeping. She grieved with him those first few days, and she had never felt more like his grandmother than she did then.

Oghren went after Felsi. Alistair commending the dwarf for stepping up and trying to move on after everything had passed in Orzammar. However, he couldn't be less thankful for Arl Eamon when he decided that he deserved no more grief than what he had been given and that he must marry. Alistair couldn't truly comprehend how Eamon had to deal with the loss of his wife, Isolde, as quickly as he had been forced to do. Perhaps this was the only reason that the King swallowed his pride and agreed.

He spent those early morning hours wondering just what Eamon had in store for him once the sun came up and life began. He imagined a parade of young ladies, all with more make-up on their faces than heart they had in their chests. It was this image that caused him to distract himself with a copy of the Chant of the Light. He had never been very religious, and everyone knew this. Still, Leliana left it for him hoping it would 'give him guidance in his time of need'.

Alistair read diligently until one of the maids knocked on his door to announce his early morning meeting with Eamon and his perspective bride would be at the Arl's Denerim estate in an hour. That was enough time for him to get dressed and into his armor before hitting the streets of the ruined city to meet the woman that would make or break him.

And Maker's breath, was he nervous. He didn't know what to expect when he got there, but he had this inkling feeling that no matter what he tried to prepare himself for, he would find that he had never been so utterly wrong in his life. Alistair genuinely feared the woman he was about to meet, if only because he would have to spend his very short life with her. He felt it wrong to force a woman into such a position, where she would know her husband's life might be significantly shorter than her own. However, if she had not run away the moment Eamon had told her of his intentions then maybe she had the fortitude to stand by him.

The only thing refreshing about this short trip was being able to see his people rebuilding. He was most impressed with how the Alienage had begun to receive better care, partially because of the decree he made on Linara's behalf that the homes built to replace what had been destroyed were to be of the finest crafstmanship. He had remembered how disgusted she was to see her fellow Elvhen suffering as they did, how she swore to end the Blight and help them till her dying breath.

The streets had been dirty before the Reconstruction began, but now it seemed that cleanliness was coming to the city in the laying of new roads and the removal of debris. It was like this all around Denerim, especially in the Market debris had been distributed to the survivors to be used as firewood in their camps, or homes for those whose homes had not been destroyed. Some houses were being rebuilt, but Goldanna's house would not be among them; she had been among the dead.

The only thing Alistair worried about when he heard this was the fate of her children. It came to his knowledge that some had died, and two others discovered magic in their blood trying to survive the attack. They were in the Circle Tower now, and that brought him some comfort to at least know that they were safe. He hadn't cared for his sister when he met her, and Linara had told him that she was just looking out for herself. It was about then that he decided to do the same, and look where that got him.

Wade's Emporium had been razed to the ground, and with some amusement he listened to the 'passionate' armorsmith complain about the state of his forge. His displeasure permeated the air, and his manager argued with him about a new post. Something about Vigil's Keep. Alistair winced at the thought.

If he had laid with Morrigan that night before the battle, Linara would be going off to serve as Commander of the Grey at that exact place. Just that idea made his chest ache beneath his armor, but he remembered that it was Linara who angrily refused, loudly accusing the apostate of all sorts of things. He could hear her yelling down the hall that night, and when she came to bed, all she wanted to do was curl up next to him and cry. He wished that it hadn't been the last night he got to spend with her.

It wasn't too long before he arrived at Arl Eamon's home in Denerim, which was in surprisingly good order after the attack. He understood that the gates around it came down fast and blocked entry, which was very fortuitous for the Arl. Alistair found him standing outside waiting for him, utterly alone in the courtyard aside from the presence of a young lady who seemed too concerned with her uncomfortable horse to pay him any mind.

"Your Majesty, it is good to see you again."

"You don't have to call me that, Eamon. I would prefer you didn't." Alistair came forward to greet him from the middle of a small group of guards.

"Then it shall be so, Alistair. I'm glad to see you out and about."

Only because I had no choice, Alistair mused bitterly before he spoke. "So… I want to get this over as fast as possible. Where is she?"

The Arl tilted his head toward the woman struggling with her horse as he spoke," Gwendolyn Cousland is her name. Quite a spirited girl. Her mabari spooked the horse, and she is attempting to calm it down."

Cousland. Why was that name familiar?

Alistair blinked, quite surprised that the woman he saw on arrival was his perspective bride, and he turned around to look at this woman again. She didn't look like someone that the Arl would consider, dressed in thin riding leathers and sweating in the effort to calm her horse. She had long brown hair that would probably touch her rear end if she let it down, and her skin was tan, as if she had seen many, many hours of sunlight and riding in her life. She was not incredibly fair, but her facial features betrayed the noble birth she had.

"Where is the hound?" Alistair asked.

Just the thought of Mabari reminded him of the same one that followed Linara loyally all through their travels, just to die from the taint in the nights following the battle. Houndmasters did what they could for him, but they said he was less willing to do anything now that his mistress was gone. The Mabari would rather be in the world beyond the Fade with her than live through its poison.

"Probably hiding in the stables. Gwendolyn wasn't very happy with him."

Eamon's words shocked him out of his thoughts as he gestured for Alistair to join him on a walk toward the lady, who still struggled furiously to keep her horse in line with the ground.

"Gwendolyn isn't like a lot of the noble women. Its obvious just looking at her, but she is a very athletic woman, and eager to fight for her country. If not for the threat of Arl Howe, she likely would have been with us when we defended Denerim. Word of his death had not yet reached her where she sought refuge."

Alistair nodded and murmured incoherent answers to Eamon with every little piece of information he was fed. The King could understand why she was a good choice now. Ferelden did need a Queen, a Queen that could hold her own and be respected- not that Anora wasn't respected, but after all of that mess at the Landsmeet.. No one would have looked at her the same. And it's not like Alistair would have married her anyway. Eamon seemed aware of that much.

As the men approached, Gwendolyn managed to calm her horse only enough so that he would not long kick his front legs at her. He still snorted in agitation, and she did what anyone would do in that situation: present a carrot to him. It gathered the horse's attention quickly, and by the time Eamon and Alistair reached her, the horse had taken it from her hand and trotted away to eat in peace.

"Your Majesty, I didn't see you arrive." She smiled faintly and bowed to Alistair like it was habit. It made him uncomfortable.

"If we're going to be spending a lot of time together, you can just call me by my name…" He shifted in place, and looked at Eamon for help.

Gwendolyn looked between the two of them and chuckled," Alright. Alistair. Its good to finally meet you. My brother, Teryn Fergus of Highever, told me that you seemed like a good man at your coronation. I would have been present as well.. But I didn't know if it was safe to come back to Denerim, after Arl Howe attacked our family."

Hearing this information snapped everything into place in Alistair's mind. Fergus had spoken to him very briefly at the coronation about sending troops to find his sister, therefore Highever's guard would be too small to send aid in case Darkspawn decided to attack again. This was her then. It made sense now as it why Fergus may have been worried. She looked like a woman with a knack for trouble.

He never really had the mind for keeping all of these things together, and part of him nagged him to find the way to do that. He was going to need it in the very near future.

"So Fergus did find you? Or did you come on your own?" Eamon jumped in.

"Bann Teagan found me when he went back to Rainesfere, if you remember. It was far enough away from Amaranthine that I could take up refuge in the Chantry. The Revered Mother was very good to me. I did write my brother, so don't you worry about him stomping all through Ferelden on a mad hunt for his little sister."

Gwendolyn tried throwing in a good natured laugh in an attempt to clear the air. It didn't very well work, and it left a thick veil of unease around them all that caught on an awkward silence.

Arl Eamon looked at Alistair, and the King still looked as uncomfortable as ever standing there in front of his bride-to-be. She didn't seem very comfortable either, almost like she was speaking to try and relieve the clear tension in the air. He cleared his throat, and decided that he would head inside.

"I think I'll leave you two alone for a little while. Breakfast will be ready shortly."

Alistair thought to object, but the look he received from the Arl when he opened his mouth could silence anyone. It seemed that he would be stuck in the company of Gwendolyn Cousland for the whole day, if only to get to know her.

She watched the Arl go inside with the slightest twinge of discomfort crawling up her spine, worse than the restlessness that the tension had left in her.

"Well," She began, " I think I'll go find Cian… Are you any good with Mabari, Alistair?"

"Not one bit. The Hero of Ferelden had one, but it didn't seem to like me much."

"I heard about her Mabari. Great big, light-colored furred beauty, wasn't he? Could tear a man's jugular clean out of his throat. Very powerful hound, according to the stories," Gwendolyn made her way toward the stables, whistling all the way as if to gain her own Mabari's attention.

Alistair blinked as he followed her toward the stables, "You heard stories about her?"

"Who wouldn't? A lot of the human's tried to put all the credit to you, but the Elves that frequented the Chantry told the true stories of how she could sneak up behind you without so much as a breath, how her arrows flew so high and so straight that they could go clean through your body and you wouldn't even notice. They told other stories too… but…"

"It was about us, wasn't it? How we were involved?"

Gwendolyn turned her head to look at him apologetically, like she could sense the beaten puppy coming out of him," I'm sorry, Alistair. I truly am. I know what it is like to lose someone you love because they were trying to protect you.."

Gwendolyn opened the small door into the stables, and as the door creaked open, the whimper of a defeated mabari came from behind a bale of hay. She bent down and began to click her tongue, likely to urge the mabari from its hiding place.

"Its alright, Cian. Come on now…"

A great, dark furred beast slowly stepped out from behind the hay where the whimpers came from. Covered in bright red war paint, Alistair assumed that this mabari was just as fierce in battle as Linara's own. It came forward as it realized that Gwendolyn's anger had subsided, and instinctually butted the top of his large head into his mistress' hand. She patted him gently.

"Behave now, it's time for us to go inside and eat."

"I..uhh.. I guess we should go inside then," Alistair suggested before yet another silence could fall over them.

Gwendolyn blinked at him for a moment before she softly nodded her head and stood," I suppose so. Wouldn't want to keep Connor waiting. That boy loves his breakfast, and Maker help the man that makes him wait on it…"

She turned on her heel and began toward the gate, glancing briefly over her shoulder at the man she would marry someday. She felt pity for him, knowing full well that this was never what he wanted. With a shake of her head, she looked away and said not another word. Just seeing him, she could sense that he was the kind of man that needed a strong shoulder to lean on. Not that he was weak, but he gave in quickly to demand and was unsure of himself in his new position. She could see that in his stumbling words, his pauses as he spoke to her. She would give him strength in the days to come even if it was all she had to give.