Disclaimer: I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

Rating: T+

Spoilers: Spoilers for Origins only.

A/N: Since Loghain did not know for the whole of a decade that Elilia Cousland found him attractive, nor did he know why she chose to spare his life at the Landsmeet until even later, we can be assured that this night never happened. But sitting wakeful thanks to a late-night bowl of homemade tortellini I knew I was going to pay for, with thunder rolling and lightning flashing in my windows, this is where my brain wound up, and I couldn't resist the urge to write it down.

The Return: The Night That Never Happened

It was not his turn to stand watch, but he did it anyway.

Sleep, never his closest companion in the best of times, was mostly denied him now that his dreams were troubled with visions of darkspawn and the Archdemon. Might as well be of some use. He passed close by the Warden's tent, moving softly so as not to disturb her, but the light of the campfire backlit the oilskin and revealed her distinctive silhouette, sitting cross-legged on her bedroll. He heard a faint noise from within, deep breaths and a few soft gulps, and a slight moan of discomfort.

He stepped closer to the tent. "Warden?" he said, his voice pitched so as not to carry to the other occupants of camp.

There was a moment's silence. Then, a hesitant "…Yes?"

"Are you well?"

"Not…exactly. Dinner has come back to haunt me, it seems."

"Shall I wake the Circle mage?" he asked.

"No, no. This, too, shall pass."

"Are you certain you'll not have the healer see you? No one else's digestion seems troubled."

"Ha. No, they sleep the sleep of the righteous just. It's not the dinner that's bothering me so much as anxiety is simply giving me an acid stomach. I'll be fine, I just need to sit up for a bit. Er…I could…use some help with that, if you don't mind."

"What do you need?" he asked.

"A backrest. Could you come in here and sit with me for a bit, please?"

It was an odd request, but she was an odd woman. A moment's hesitation, and then he ducked his way into the tent. Like himself, she was clad in a loose-fitting men's shirt and calf-length trousers. She patted the bedroll next to her and he cautiously lowered himself to sit cross-legged, his back to her. She turned and leaned back up against him. She sighed in profound relief.

"Ahh. Thanks."

There was a few minutes of silence, and then a flash lit the sky outside. The Warden started to count out loud. When she reached eight the expected rumble of low, distant thunder reached their ears.

"Did you ever do that?" she asked. "Count to see how far away the storm is?"

"Of course," he said. "My father taught me."

"My brother taught me," she said. "We were camping in the castle courtyard. We were trying to, at any rate: the rain eventually drove us back inside. But not before he taught me how to count down the thunder."

He was silent, and his thoughts were dark and self-recriminatory.

"I don't hold you responsible, you know," she said after a bit, almost as if she read his mind. "Not for what happened to my family. I don't know why you stood with the man who killed them, but I expect he had his story ready to explain why the Couslands deserved to die."

"He…he said your father was in league with the Empire. He had documents."

"Hm. Well, I wish I could say I was surprised, but the only thing that would surprise me now is discovering I still have the capacity to be surprised. Father visited Orlais not long before it all went to hell: I wouldn't be shocked to learn he got played by one of their beloved bloody Games. Father didn't have an eye for subtlety, as the results of his friendship with Rendon Howe lays bare."

She lapsed into silence again, and he did not care to disturb it. Finally she said, "You were never my enemy, you know."

"Oh?"

"Mm. Not to me. I thought you should know, since you seem to think I'm lying every time I say I don't think you a monster. I've done things, this past year, that are probably just as bad, if not worse, than anything you did. The girl I was a year gone wouldn't have done them, no doubt, but that girl is dead. I've had to learn to be ruthless. I don't think I'm a monster. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I am a monster. If so, I don't give a damn. I get the job done. Maybe it takes a monster."

"I see."

"I never saw you as my enemy. Howe was my enemy. Once he was dead, my taste for vengeance was pretty well spent. Now Alistair: Alistair saw you as the enemy. I guess that's pretty clear now."

It was a surreal situation, sitting in a lady's tent, listening to her speak of another man, but he had to ask. "Did you love him?"

"Excuse me?"

"He's young, good-looking, and he seems genial enough when he isn't calling for my head. Did you love him?"

She chuckled humorlessly. "Did I love Alistair, the man who was so weak I was forced to hold his hand and baby him every step of the way from Ostagar to Denerim? The man who prevented me from grieving the family I loved and lost because I had to comfort him in his grief over a man he'd known all of six months, the man who tore me away from my beloved family in their last extremity? Did I love him? Dear sweet Maker, you may rest assured that I did not. I never thought for a moment that he'd leave his beloved Grey Wardens, but when he did I did not find myself much aggrieved by the abandonment. The others may think what they wish, but I feel as if a tremendous burden has been lifted off my shoulders."

"Well. You're welcome, then."

"Ha. I would thank you, if I but knew how."

Silence reigned for a time, until the loudest peal of thunder yet rattled their teeth. "Storm's getting closer," she said.

"Yes," he said.

"Long as our canopy doesn't collapse or blow away in the wind, we should stay dry," she said.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Better," she said. "My stomach is starting to settle, I think. You know, even something as simple as acid indigestion…I wouldn't divulge a weakness like that to anyone in camp. The only one I feel reasonably certain wouldn't hold or otherwise use it against me is the one you sent to kill me. He'd just try to convince me that sex is a sure cure."

"Oh? So why would you divulge this weakness to me?" he asked.

"Because I feel like you won't hold my mortality against me. Am I wrong? Are you looking for a place to stick a knife?"

He was silent for a moment. "No, Warden."

"Good. I needed someone I could be mortal with."

Another bright flash of lightning, followed almost immediately thereafter by loud thunder.

"The storm has arrived," she said, as heavy raindrops splattered their waterproof canopy.

"Indeed."

"Would you…stay with me tonight?" she asked. "It seems a shame for you to go out and get yourself soaked, and I…I could use the company. My nights are troubled."

"Are you sure that's what you want?" he asked, his head turned toward her. She turned her own head to meet his halfway, and the corners of their mouths fairly touched.

"Yes," she said.

"Then I'll gladly stay," he said, and turned to press his mouth fully against hers. As the thunder crashed all around them and the wind moaned, they made love with an urgency born of the rhythm and crash of the storm.