AN: Here's something I've been playing around with for a while now. It's inspired by the musical the Last 5 Years, which is fairly brilliant, told by the two characters: one telling the story forwards, the other backwards. I've been wanting to use the format for a while, and voila! I'm really excited about this, it's been my baby for almost a year. A majority of the chapters cover separate events in the timeline, but it should still be fairly easy to follow. A lot of things are mentioned or built upon from one chapter to the next, see if you can spot them! Reviews, both good and bad, are always welcome :)

*Revised* Fixed the wrong quote at the beginning.

Disclaimer: It's Bioware's ginormous sandbox, I'm just building forts. The chapter quote is from Brian Andreas

"I held her close for only a short time, but after she was gone, I'd see her smile on the face of a perfect stranger and I knew she would be there with me all the rest of my days."

For all their work, Denerim was still in ruins. He could still smell sulphur on the wind, smoke still rose from the hardest hit locales. The market needed to be completely rebuilt, and the top of Fort Drakon would need to be replaced but most of the Alienage and the Palace district were in habitable condition, which he thanked the Maker for. If the Alienage had been wiped out, she-

He let out a shaky breath. Today, he needed to be strong, needed to be a face for his people. Today, he would be crowned and would be expected to lead Ferelden into a new era, one that had seen a Blight and lived to tell the tale. It had been they who had almost single-handedly quelled it, and he knew it would be a source of pride in the troubled times that would most certainly follow. His heart hurt at the loss of his fellow wardens, the first casualties of the fight, of Duncan, who had saved him from the Templars.

Of her.

A strangled sob escaped; bursting past the dam he built in his chest in hopes of stemming the pain. Maker, he missed her. He missed the feel of her breath on his cheek, the scent of her hair as she curled to his side, the affection in her gaze. She was quirky in her ways, fond of tilting her head and of touching to make a point. He remembered the look she'd given him at the city gates, head cocked to the side, chin tilted demurely down as she stared up at him. If only he hadn't stood down for once, fought harder to follow her…he dropped his head into his hands. He knew it wouldn't have made a difference. He knew how stubborn she was, but he liked to entertain a fancy that if he had been on the roof with her, he could have been the one to kill the Archdemon. He had had hope that Riordan would succeed in his task, that she would be smiling triumphant on her return, pulling him into her arms and laughing at the fact they'd actually succeeded. When he had managed to get the fort with the others, he saw Riordan laid out, broken at the top of the steps and she was nowhere in sight. An anxious feeling made him queasy, and then he glanced her, looking smaller than he ever seen her, cradled in Sten's arms. When the giant placed her next to Riordan's body, he took note of the fact she was clean, not a wound or blemish on her, she seemed to glow even in death, a burning warmth radiating from her as he pulled her into his arms. He couldn't quite remember what happened after that.

The sigh of the mabari at his feet took him from those darker thoughts, and let his mind linger on that last night in Redcliffe, when they'd had enough room in their bed that they could move without their heads hitting canvas, where they'd talked all night, amongst other things. He would have given up the crown for her, made Anora queen and rebuilt the Wardens at her side. He smiled at her choice of words, "Can we just run to Orlais and live in sin?" He had to admit, it seemed now that she had the right idea.

The weight on his chest began to ache at the fringes. How was he going to do this? Every night since, he had dreamt of her, the visions coming in flashes of the past and glimpses of what could have been the future. He couldn't imagine doing anything without her, in such a short time she had become a fixture in his life. He had never been as close to anyone in his twenty-five years as he had been with her, she knew things he'd never gotten the chance to tell Duncan.

Another shaky breath left him.

The sound of the door opening made Ross raise his head, snuffling at the air. When he laid his head back down with a loud whine, Alistair turned to look. A maid was carrying a tray with his breakfast, and she started when she saw him.

"Beg your pardon, your majesty. I did not think you'd be awake."

He watched as she unloaded the tray on the table near his balcony, chattering as she went, "The mage Wynne thought you might be nervous about today, so there is some tea that should help with that and I kept your breakfast light."

"Where's William?"

The girl paused in her work, "He is preparing your things for today, your majesty. He should be along shortly. Are you needing something?"

He sat back in his chair, running his hands over his face and stretching his legs out, "Thank you, Molly. Can you leave us please?"

With a quick curtsey, the girl rushed from the room, eager to be back amongst the commotion he knew filled the palace. He watched the fire for a while longer, before his stomach panged and he knew he should at least try to eat. As he stood, the scent of the food hit his senses, and his knees nearly buckled.

Ginger.

The spicy smell overloaded his mind, and he rushed to throw open the balcony doors. The salty air blew into the room, carrying away the smells with it. He could not stop the tears that flowed then. His hands shook as he leaned on the balustrade, head bowed as his shoulders heaved, it was all he could do to keep from crying out. She always smelled of ginger. She would use it after bathing, would chew on it as they marched, she always said it was her favourite. That her mother would use it to block out the smells of the Alienage, would make ginger snaps and sell them for income.

An unfathomable truth, heavy and abstruse, settled deep within him. She was gone, sacrificed for the end of the Blight. She now lay in the cold bowels of the Palace, kept preserved by Wynne magic until her cremation tomorrow, nothing more than a corpse. She felt so close, as though he could open a door and find her crooked smile on the other side of it, that she had just been taking a long rest after the battle.

The sun was rising higher in the sky, the happy sounds of excited citizen drifting up to him. He heard William enter and busy himself getting things ready for when Alistair came back inside. He fiddled with the amulet he wore around his neck, the one she had given him, stroked the smooth mirrored back.

Today, he would be made king, and start to look to the future of his kingdom.

But that future would be a poorer place without her in it.

Again, please review!