This story was written for the Secret Santa fic exchange at the Cheeky Monkeys of Dragon Age forum. I wrote this for Hot_Elf, who loves her some Loghain too. I giggled like crazy when I got her name and just knew that I had to write Loghain-y goodness. Merry Christmas, Hot_Elf!

Thank you to super beta extraordinaire Suilven for her big beta stick of doom. You totally rock the house!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everyone! :)

I had once told Cailan that he needed to put foolish notions aside and attend to reality. Perhaps I needed to heed my own advice, as age and experience are no guarantees against becoming a fool.

At first, I'd believed my foolish thoughts had been brought on by age and the Taint in my blood; I'm far from being a young man with the dreams and desires of youth. Given the events of the last year—that fool Cailan's duplicities and death, the Orlesians stalking our borders with so-called promises of help, my role as Regent, Anora's status, the Blight—I know I made mistakes; ones I should not have made, ones that many will never forgive me for.

At the time, I didn't know if my defeat damned or saved this nation. Perhaps, it was a bit of both. Were we now damned to have the Orlesians breach our borders with promises of help against the darkspawn? Having the Grey Wardens amongst us was bad enough; having their Orlesian allies accompany them was even worse.

Thankfully, the Warden—Bryce's little spitfire, Howe had called her—had supported Anora's claim to the throne. How that silver-tongued devil had managed to convince the Landsmeet that it was the best thing for Ferelden—when I couldn't—is something I'll likely never understand. I had half expected her pleas for Maric's bastard to rule at Anora's side would convince him to do so, but he had refused. Thankfully; from what my people had told me, Alistair was much like his father had been in his youth. Maric had hated the trappings of being King; he much preferred being among his people. Unfortunately, that meant Rowan and I had been left to run the day-to-day affairs of the country in his absence. Having been Maric's chancellor in all but name was, I believe, part of what led to Celia and me growing distant over time.

Maker, I do miss her. Perhaps...

No, I don't have time for regrets, especially now. The Taint changes a man, both in body and mind. The end of my days is much closer now than it was not long ago.

Which is why I'm about to make an incredibly foolish decision.

~oOo~

I remember when Serena—the Warden Commander—was just a girl. She and Anora had been friendly as children, even with the age difference between them. Anora and Serena both loved reading and when they had discovered that they had read the same book, they could talk about it for hours, lost in their own private world of literature.

When they weren't discussing novels, they would often be found in the training yards. Both girls were students of swordplay and archery, much to mine and Bryce's delight and Eleanor's vexation. Serena could easily best Anora while sparring, simply because she had often sparred with the young soldiers in Bryce's army; Serena had been a fine warrior in the making even then. Anora had almost always won when they'd decided to use bows in their contests rather than swords. Watching their matches had been a welcome diversion from business for Bryce and me—and, I must admit, we had occasionally wagered a pint or two over the contests. We had never told the girls of our wagers, but we had suspected they knew it just the same.

As time passed and we all grew older, Anora and Serena had seen less of each other. Anora had been in Denerim often, preparing for her life as Queen. Serena—much to her chagrin—had been taught the womanly ways of Court by her mother. Bryce and Eleanor had been preparing her for an eventual arranged marriage. They had never said outright to whom they had planned on betrothing Serena, but I had had my suspicions that their choices were beyond our borders.

That had been another complication: Bryce's dealings with the damned Orlesians. I could never understand how Bryce had changed from a White River war survivor with a burning hatred of those perfumed and painted bastards, to having wine and croissants with them. I wouldn't have been surprised to learn of Serena being betrothed to some fancy Orlesian lord as part of a negotiation. Bryce had had too many fingers in Orlesian pies for my liking. When I had told Rendon to "handle it" with Bryce and find out just how entwined with the Orlesians he had been, I wasn't looking for him to indulge his idiot ambition at that moment by killing the Couslands to "take back what was his."

It had been a surprise to hear that Serena had turned up at Ostagar; it had been a bigger one that it had been at the hands of that Orlesian puppet, Duncan. The last thing I had thought would happen to Serena had been the Grey Wardens getting their hands on her; was she getting mixed up in their Orlesian schemes as well? I had felt badly for her on one hand, but by becoming a Grey Warden, she was becoming an Orlesian collaborator; I couldn't allow Orlesian sympathizers an inroad into Ferelden, no matter who they were.

I never thought that I would have to confront Serena and Maric's bastard at the Landsmeet. All I had wanted to do was protect Ferelden and Anora's right to rule at any cost; if that made me a villain, then I was willing to live with it. There is nothing I would not do for my country. I could live with the hatred so long as Ferelden was safe and secure from her enemies… and that meant the Grey Wardens.

It was that stance that allowed me to be overconfident at the Landsmeet; I can admit now that I had been overconfident when Serena and I had dueled. I had had years of experience in warfare and individual combat by the time she was born. I had recalled her skills as a young woman; with that, and the intelligence reports from my men throughout Ferelden, I had believed that the advantage was mine. Her defeat had been little more than a formality; in my mind, I had already won.

I was wrong.

As we'd fought, it had become apparent that she was a greater warrior that I had given her credit for. I had hesitated for the briefest of moments… and that hesitation had allowed her to get the critical hit on me. I had cursed myself as an arrogant, overconfident fool. I knew I could have beaten her in front of the nobility.

Instead, I let myself down. I let Ferelden down. Worse, I let Anora down. Had I won, she would have been the undisputed ruler and the Grey Wardens would once more have been banished from Ferelden. I waited for my fate, waited for Serena's victorious blade to separate my head from my neck. I wasn't ready to die, not with so much left undone.

Serena surprised me though. She had agreed to support Anora's claim as Queen, telling all of those gathered that she was what Ferelden needed; Anora had the experience of ruling while Alistair had none. In fact, she had said, Alistair had repeatedly told her that he didn't want to be King and that she couldn't force him to do something he didn't want to do. He had been fine until Riordan had made his suggestion that I become a Grey Warden and be of use; Alistair had vehemently opposed that suggestion. When Serena agreed with Riordan, she hadn't stopped Alistair when he'd stormed out of the Landsmeet chamber to whatever fate awaited him; like father, like son, always ready to run from duty. In that moment, I had been profoundly grateful to her for preserving Anora's right to rule.

Of course, having to swallow that poisonous elixir and join the Grey Wardens diminished that gratefulness somewhat. Even so, I had wanted to express my gratitude to Serena for allowing Anora to remain Ferelden's rightful Queen. Serena, however, had saved her true venom and scorn for after the Landsmeet.

"I only want to hear your betraying mouth when you wish to discuss Warden matters, and nothing more. As far as I'm concerned, you are nothing more than a waste of air. You are a murdering regicide, no better than the mud beneath my feet. As soon as this Blight is over, I will see you shipped off to Orlais with Riordan; you can be his problem, not mine."

~oOo~

I had been ready to do my duty as a Grey Warden; I had never been one to shun duty before and I certainly hadn't been going to begin doing so at that point. Serena must have seen me as a burden in those early days—and, I must admit, I was rather jaded myself—but I had not been about to let her fight the darkspawn alone. We had journeyed through Ferelden for some time after the Landsmeet—Riordan heading north and west while Serena and I had traveled south—tracking the darkspawn and trying to discover the Archdemon's movements. The creature had haunted us in our dreams, had teased us as we searched for it. We had even traveled to Ostagar, hoping that by starting at the beginning, we could find the end.

"Do you see how that bitch speaks to Cailan in a familiar tone? As if she and Cailan were already wed and Anora set aside, forgotten and barren?"

Serena plucked the letters from my reluctant hand and began to read. As her eyes traversed the page, the flush on her cheeks began to stand out even more as the skin around them paled. Her shoulders slumped as she closed her eyes. She drew a breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out in a long, mournful sigh.

"Oh, Anora." Serena's eyes met mine and I could see the affection for my daughter within them. "Did you know of this?"

"I suspected that Cailan had had mistresses. I knew he had made peace overtures to Orlais. This revelation was not beyond the realm of possibility."

"Did this knowledge influence your decision to leave him to the horde?"

My response was immediate. "Yes."

To my surprise, Serena hadn't yelled at or berated me, hadn't called me a regicide as she had once before. Instead, she had simply nodded, accepting my answer for the truth that it was. There had been no need to hide it. Even so, her reaction had been far more passive than I had expected. What had happened to her?

It wasn't long after that that a dream had awakened us in the dead of night, leaving both of us breathless and shaking in our tents. I had quickly dressed, my dread and trepidation driving me to seek the comfort of the fire while waiting for Serena to arrive—for I knew that she would—so that we could compare what we had seen in our dreams. Neither one of us had been surprised to learn we had dreamed the exact same thing—the snarling and screaming of the archdemon as it stood amongst the horde before leaping into the sky, taking flight and urging its minions to do its bidding; urging them onward toward a town nestled among towering red hills and bluffs on the shores of a calm lake.

Redcliffe.

~oOo~

I had never known that a Grey Warden must be the one—a sacrifice—to kill the archdemon. When Riordan had finally told Serena and me, the revelation had been a shock. Ferelden would have succumbed to the archdemon and its darkspawn had I removed the Grey Wardens from Ferelden as I had originally planned. I had been angry with myself; I had nearly doomed Ferelden to the darkspawn without even realizing it.

I knew then that it would be my duty to kill the beast and spare Ferelden from the ravages of the Blight. Serena was young; she needed to live what life she could before the Taint claimed her. I was an old man past his prime, but one who could still do what needed to be done to save his country. All the damage I had done—all the lives forever altered because of my actions over the last year—could be set to rights. My name was a curse on many lips; this would be my way to redemption. It would also leave Serena behind to rebuild the Grey Wardens with good, strong, Fereldans; noble men and women who would serve Serena well.

The thought of seeing her die was... painful.

When I had told Serena of my desire to kill the archdemon so that she could live, she had become angry. Resigning myself to that fate was not an option, she had said. At the time, I had been confused. What had changed her mind so drastically in the past few months? We had found an understanding with each other, putting the good of Ferelden and the defeat of the archdemon and its minions above all else. Our rapport was strong with a united purpose. Yet, it had felt like I was missing something in her words.

When Serena had come to me that night with the swamp witch's offer of a way out, she had implored me to take it. I couldn't ignore her plea, and had been unsure as to why. Even so, I had argued, if duty required one of us to die, I was willing to accept that fate and had found peace with it, knowing that it would save the country I loved. She would have nothing with my logic, arguing that if there was a way to save us both, it was an option worth considering. We had argued so fiercely about the offer that she had eventually ordered me to do it. To say I had been angry with her would have been an understatement. I was livid.

It had been the swamp witch—the golem's very fitting name for her—that had told me why Serena had been so adamant about fulfilling the witch's request, despite the potentially dangerous outcome.

"For reasons I cannot fathom," Morrigan had begun, "Serena sees you as a kindred soul. Perhaps,'tis the nobility in her, seeing you as one of a similar station. Or, perhaps 'tis simply a result of too many blows to her head. At any rate, this is important to her and, despite her anger and misgivings, I know she will be appreciative to you. Very appreciative."

I must have looked confused at that moment, for the witch had smirked at me. "I was ordered to do this, witch, nothing more. There is no pleasure in this."

"Then, she will be extremely pleased to hear that, for I wouldn't want to be a source of competition or jealousy for her."

Competition? Jealousy? I had wondered why Morrigan would say such things. Her words had echoed in my mind as I had completed the ritual, uncertain of what had been behind them. Afterward, I had sought out Serena to inform her that her order had been fulfilled. She had invited me into the sitting room of her suite in the castle, her eyes fixed on the fireplace as her words had drifted into melancholy.

"You were a hero to me as a child... as were King Maric, Queen Rowan, Arl Howe, Arl Wulffe, my father... everyone that had fought to make sure Ferelden would be free for us as the next generation. You were an intimidating figure, but Anora had always said that, beneath that gruff exterior, you were a loving—if sometimes distant—father. That was why the betrayals hurt so much.

"Seeing you at Ostagar, confronted with Cailan's letters, made me realize that you were just a man... that you could love and hurt like anyone else. Cailan was like your son; the proof that he was ready to cast Anora aside was a slap in your face, a betrayal by someone close to you. Now, I see that you know what it's like to have had someone so close deceive you… to know that neither time nor friendship can prevent some tragedies.

"I don't pity you, Loghain, because I know you would never accept it. But, as your friend—and I realize now that I have become your friend—I empathize with you. I understand you, as you now understand me. I also know that, when all this ends, I will need you at my side. Riordan was right, after all, but it's more than that now."

The words of the witch echoed in my mind. "What do you mean by more, Serena?"

Serena ran her fingers through her hair, a gesture of embarrassment that I knew from watching Celia and Anora through the years. "Too much wine and too little sleep. It's time to retire for the night; we will need our strength in the coming days."

~oOo~

It had been Serena that had killed the archdemon after all. She had been magnificent; beautiful and terrible as she had buried her blade deep within the tainted dragon's skull. White light had consumed her in its embrace before flinging her away from the corpse like a child throws a rag doll. I had immediately run to her side, pulling her into my arms and carrying her to the healers below. Even though she had been covered with blood and filth, she had been one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen, glorious in her triumph. After seeing her safely into the hands of the mages, I had returned to the roof of the fort and found her greatsword, the one she called "Starfang," still buried to its hilt in the dragon's stinking carcass. Several soldiers had been keeping a wary eye on it, no doubt hoping the owner would not come back for it. I had quickly disabused them of that notion, taking the sword and returning it to Serena as she had recuperated in the makeshift medical ward. The smile she had given me—a warm, genuine smile—had been one I had not expected.

"I couldn't have done this with without your help," she had told me. Her dark eyes had held mine for a brief moment before shyly skittering away. She had reached out and touched my hand, a light and affectionate touch the likes of which she had never given me before. I had been conflicted; part of me had wanted to give her privacy as the mages had cared for her, yet another part of me had silently wished to stay at her side. Her touch had sent prickles up my arm, warming me in a way no woman had done since Celia. I had remained with Serena as her exhaustion carried her away into sleep. She was young, beautiful…

Had this been what Morrigan had been telling me about as I'd participated in that bloody ritual? Had Serena somehow developed an attachment to me? My mind had turned back to our conversation at Eamon's castle; Serena had called me a friend, had said she needed me at her side and that "it's more than that now." At that time, I had feared for what Serena meant, not only for me, but for her as well.

"Serena—Commander—you have a reputation to think about. You are the leader of the Grey Wardens and an Arlessa. My name has been tainted and my reputation precedes me. You cannot allow yourself to be tarnished by that type of association. I don't give a damn about my reputation—I never have—but yours cannot be sullied."

"Loghain, I don't give a damn about reputations either, yours or mine. We are both Grey Wardens; we're mostly removed from the political machinations of Court. I'm likely sterile and even more likely to die young. What is the problem with finding peace and solace with one another while we can? Time waits for no one and I can't wait long."

"You realize that I'm of age to be your father? Andraste's Blood, Serena… I remember when you were born!"

"If you cared about me, then that wouldn't matter. Age doesn't matter. Status doesn't matter either."

"It's because I care for you that it matters."

~oOo~

The weeks following the archdemon's death had been a bustle of activity. Both Serena and Anora had asked me to search for new Grey Wardens amongst the armies of the kingdom and the largest landholders. While I had visited the major settlements, Serena had traveled to Amaranthine to set up a base of operations for the Fereldan Wardens. In those weeks away from her, I had missed her profoundly, as if a very part of me had vanished. After finding a number of recruits, I had made my way to Amaranthine to present them.

I've been here for a few hours now, waiting for Serena to return from a trip to the city of Amaranthine. Trying to pass the time—a bath, change of clothes, cleaning my armor—has kept my mind and hands busy, but only to a point. I'm both anxious and excited to see her. Perhaps she was right... maybe we both need solace.

A foolish decision, to be sure but, as she told me some time ago, time is short. Time and the Taint wait for no one.

"Loghain! Welcome to Vigil's Keep."

I turned away from the books lining the walls of the audience chamber to see her approaching. A wide smile brightened her face and I felt myself respond in kind. In her hand was a parchment, which she opened with a deft, quick flip of her wrist.

"This letter just arrived from Weisshaupt Fortress, addressed to both of us. They are ordering that you be transferred to Montsimmard… immediately."

In unison, my heart sank and my ire rose. How dare those idiots in Weisshaupt order such a thing? Orlais. No doubt this was simply a tactic to get me out of the way, and what better place to do so than that land of painted and perfumed bastards.

I looked toward Serena, wondering if I had been too late after all. I was surprised to see a smirk on her face as she watched me. She reached out and took my hand, leading me toward the center of the room where the elaborate fire pit gave its heat to the room. We stopped next to it, the warmth of the coals enveloping us.

With that smirk still on her face, she held the parchment out and over the pit. Her fingers opened, dropping the hateful document onto the coals, where it was quickly consumed by fire. Smoke curled upward as the parchment first darkened, then succumbed to the flames.

"It's a shame that those orders never reached Ferelden," she said, shaking her head from side to side in mock sadness. "After all, there are savage barbarians running amok within our borders. Anything could have happened to the courier."

After watching the last of the parchment being consumed by the fire, I turned my attention to Serena. She had watched me the entire time, that beautiful grin still adorning her face. She took a tentative step closer, raising her hand as if to touch me. Anticipation filled me at the realization of what she had done and what she had intended to do now.

Before she could make contact, I quickly reached up and grabbed her wrist, stroking her skin with my thumb. With my other hand, I reached up and took her chin between my finger and thumb, tilting her head upward so that our eyes met. They widened slightly before becoming hooded, her smirk turning from one of amusement to something more carnal.

"Pity," I said as I lowered my lips to hers. A moment later, her hand threaded through my hair to rest on the back of my head as she pulled me closer.

A fool? Yes. But it appears that I'm not the only one.