Written for the anon who asked for Maric/Loghain and "I just really need to have you here right now." This isn't really shippy, tbh, and I think it would have been inappropriate to make it so when the subject matter is Celia's death. Sorry about that. Hope you like it anyway!

"I just really need to have you here right now."

The words weren't easy for Loghain to say. There had been nothing for so many years, nothing but the country they were responsible for ruling. Maric had been lonely, yes, but Loghain had a home, a wife, a daughter, to return to. He couldn't be there for Maric then…and he would understand if Maric took a look at him and thought the same thing.

"I'll stay then," said Maric, pulling a chair out from the desk. A cloud of dust erupted when he sat down. Loghain had been with his wife through it all. He had cared and nursed and hoped and worked and now he was drained, so tired that standing was an effort. He'd made it to Denerim on adrenaline and a desperate need to forget what he had left behind…and now that he was here, all he could think of was Celia.

"She's gone, Maric," he rasped.

Exhaustion hit him and he swayed on his feet. He frowned, catching himself on the edge of the bed.

"You look terrible," said Maric.

"Thanks."

"No, Loghain," said Maric, the king, his liege, a man he served, protected, nothing more despite their friendship (their history, because those nights in the Wilds were nothing you forgot). "You really look like shit. Sit down. Rest."

When he closed his eyes he saw Celia taking her last breaths. Before her death it had been blood, gore, the battles he had lived through. Before that it had been his mother. He feared someday it would be all of them. He feared it would be none.

He sat on the bed. It was too soft. So was Maric, but he had always been that way. Too soft…or perhaps Loghain was too harsh. Everyone else seemed to think so.

"You're not okay," said Maric. He was still sitting at the desk, his long legs crossed now. Loghain hadn't noticed him crossing them in the first place.

"I know, Maric," he grunted. "I'm aware."

Maric stood. He'd only been sitting for a few short minutes. Loghain wondered if he was going to pace, thick fur-lined boots stomping on the wooden floors. He didn't. He walked over to Loghain and sat on the bed next to him.

"Let's get this armor off you," said Maric. Loghain let the King unbuckle and undo straps and begin dismantling the old plate he'd worn to the capital. He'd grabbed the wrong set in his dash out of Gwaren.

He signed in relief as the armor came off piece by piece. He was drenched in sweat, black locks of hair stuck to his forehead. Maric wrinkled his nose. "You came straight here, didn't you?"

Loghain nodded. The journey was a blur. He didn't want to think about it.

Maric lifted the chestpiece over his head, moving onto taking Loghain's boots off. Loghain watched him impassively, realizing that his face was wet. He lifted his hand and snorted at his own foolishness. Of course. He was crying.

Maric looked up. He reached up and squeezed Loghain's arm before returning to his shoes. When that was done he attended to the armor on Loghain's legs.

Soon he was free, his underclothes stained. Maric was in front of him. "Please," said Loghain, his hand covering his expression, eyes squeezed shut as tears streamed down his face. "Please."

Maric leaned over him and wrapped his arms around Loghain, his muscular arms squeezing Loghain's back, his fingers digging into his sides. It was an awkward, terrible hug. Loghain sobbed, the bursting out of his chest harsh and uncalled for. Once he had started he couldn't stop, wracking sob after sob escaping him. He buried his head in Maric's shoulder and cried.

"I'm here," said Maric softly, his beard rough against Loghain's ear. "I'm here, Loghain. I'll always be here for you."

It took a long time before Loghain could reply. When he did he pressed a chaste kiss to Maric's cheek before mumbling, "You too."

When he closed his eyes he saw Celia. It wasn't long before it was Maric.