Drabble about my favorite losers. Maric/Loghain.
When they were young it was so easy.
It meant nothing, they told each other. It was a way to release stress. It was something to keep the nightmares away. They had nothing because there could be nothing; Maric was betrothed to Rowan, and while Ferelden kings could take any consort they wished, he could not do that to her.
That, and Loghain was not a subtle man. He would laugh in Maric's face if he called him a consort.
When they were young, they would fuck and then they would fight. Orlesians or each other, it didn't matter.
When Maric became King, everything was different.
They both had children, obligations, lands to rule. They had fronts to keep and people to please. They both had wives, and soon, children.
It felt like mere days before their wives were dead and their children grown.
Then it became a dance of sorts. They found each other again while drunk in Maric's rooms, Loghain opening up over a bottle of strong ale. Then they were kissing, and it was like they were back in the last age again, away from their mundane day to day lives.
But they were older now, and their lives were doomed to be hard. It was hard to find time for each other, hard to be discrete, hard to move past the harms they'd inflicted on each other in the year's they'd known each other. For a time, though, they managed.
As Loghain stood on the shores of the sea, he knew he was doomed to be alone as well.