The funeral had been almost unbearable. He could feel his voice cracking as he spoke to the people gathered in Redcliffe, but he steeled himself finding strength in honoring her. She had sacrificed herself to save them all, to end the greatest of threats.

"I thought...I thought we would be together forever."

The pain in his voice, the pain he had tried to withhold in front of the crowds, washed over them. It was palpable, and it showed their new king as a man, the same as them all.

Gorim approached the King after the ceremony was done, with a small package in his hands. He bowed deeply, and offered it to Alistair.

"I was given the duty of returning her things to Orzammar, I found this along with a letter addressed to you, your majesty."

He took the package, asking Gorim to stay, hoping to talk with the dwarf he knew his lady once cared for. He refused him, watery tears shining in his eyes as he walked away. Alistair did not look at the package again until he was back in Denerim, in his office, without anyone demanding his attention. A moment of peace. Inside he found the ragged journal he had watched her write in as they traveled, and a letter with his name written on the front.

My Beloved Alistair,

I write this as you sleep, the soft sounds of your breathing behind me. I can not sleep, for all I can do is think about tomorrow. I know that part of you will never forgive me for what I have to do, but you will make a fine king to your people. They need you, so tomorrow will be the first time since we met that I will go into battle without you beside me. You have been my shield brother, my second, and my heart. I go to this doom knowing it is my fate, my only regret that you will not be there in my final moments. I give this journal to you, in hopes that you will gain a better understanding of me, of why it has to be this way. Live well, my love, rule with justice and temperance, and care for your people as you cared for me. May the ancestors bless you.

Yours Always,

Neera

He put the letter down, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, hoping to stem the tide of sorrow filling him. Instead the sobs came, finally alone, finally able to grieve for what he had lost. It took some time for him to compose himself, before finally turning back to the journal, and turning to the first page.