So when I wrote Loghain Dreaming, I cut it short before it really got to anything juicy. For those who don't know, I wrote that fic as a gift for ladywinde on deviantart because of an inspirational picture I saw that she'd drawn. It was really just supposed to focus on a slightly erotic moment of Loghain's, seen by a somewhat inexperienced and young Amell before she scurried off, too embarrassed to do anything with the moment.

I've had good remarks on it, but it seems people did want more to happen, so this is a sequelto it. It's a bit more plot heavy than the previous one-shot, since I think Loghain is too complicated a character to just say, "And then smut happens," with no chance of real build up. So this will have a bit of Solona and Loghain growing closer before anything really happens. Expect multiple chapters, and I have no idea how long it will last. Considering it's really only a romance and no other plot happening (as of now anyway) I don't imagine it will be long. Perhaps five to ten chapters or somewhere in between.

Since this is a sequel, I would largely recommend reading Loghain Dreaming first, which you can find in my profile. It's not required, but it does set up the personality and already established relationship between the characters, so it might be easier to understand. However, again, not required.
As I say in all my fan fictions, I do not own the world I'm writing about. Dragon Age belongs to Bioware. This is just for fun.

Chapter 1: Letters from Home

Loghain knew from the moment he made it to Orlais, he wanted to turn around and leave. He'd snuck in quietly, not wanting to attract any attention to himself, but it had still made his stomach clench and his skin crawl. He felt like every curious glance sent his way as he traveled was a scheme, or that every passerby might suddenly pull a dagger from his or her cloak and fighting him to the death.

It was paranoia and he knew it, but he still hated it. How could he not feel that way? This very country had tried to destroy his country, enslave it. No, they had not tried. They'd succeeded. For a very long time it had been that way, until he had driven them off with Maric and Rowan. The war had lasted so many years. How could he possibly be comfortable here now?

His travels to reach Montsimmard were slow. He kept to the lesser used roads and did his best to stay at small villages. The people in the little rustic places were quiet and peaceful, didn't recognize him except to note his accent and make pleasant conversation. They were Orlesians through and through, but even he knew simple townsfolk were almost always the same no matter what country you were in. They didn't worry about politics or who was on the throne aside form idle talk. The matter of their chickens laying enough eggs or bread rising was much more important to them. It was the only way he could even think about relaxing, and even then it felt frustrating.

By the time he reached Montsimmard, he knew he didn't want to be there even more surely when he'd crossed the border.

The Grey Wardens there were not insufferable, but he almost wished they were. In fact, they seemed to try hard to make him feel welcome. Though he was a fresh recruit, they understood he was a powerful man already and experienced. He was often asked his advice on matters by the older ones, and the younger warriors, often recruits like him, would follow him around and chatter happily with him. They were not old enough to personally remember losing the previous war, just a bit of history to them. Another war before their time and they did not seem to care who he was.

It was... odd to have such camaraderie about him, but it felt false. It was like they were trying too hard to prove they weren't like the their countrymen. To them, they were Grey Wardens first and Orlesians second. It wasn't right though because Loghain knew it couldn't be true. After all, he would always be a man of Ferelden first and Grey Warden second.

He tried to be polite, or at least not too rude, if only to keep things simple and civil. They were all experienced fighters and they watched his back, and he forced himself to watch theirs. He didn't join them often for frivolities, for they seemed to love to go to those ridiculous parties with too many masks and assignations, but in simple dinners or meetings he made his appearances.

He had lines that were clearly not for crossing, and they respected it... mostly. His refusal at their uniform, blue and glittery and much too fancy in his opinion, was forced upon him despite his protests.

"We wear this with pride," they'd insisted as they urged him to accept it. "You should too."

He didn't like it much. Too much blue stained leather, not enough steel like his full-plate mail that he had worn for years. It seemed too nice to get dirty, though it was constantly drenched in darkspawn blood as they traveled to the Deep Roads and hunted them down. He felt like he spent half his time washing the damn thing to keep it as pristine as the other Wardens seemed to think it needed to be.

Oh no, they were definitely Orlesians first, hostile or not.

It might have driven him mad if not for one respite. Even in the middle of this country he hated, surrounded by such nonsense, he had one connection to home. Letters from Ferelden to ask after him and inform him of news from home.

When he'd first arrived, there had been a total of five waiting for him. He'd wondered why so many and was surprised at the contents as he read through them. One of course, was from Anora. It was the thickest, asking him how his trip had been and urging him to write back soon. It was also full of information about politics and while she didn't ask for advice, he wondered idly if she wanted any. He decided not to offer. He'd come here because the Grey Wardens didn't want him interring. If he risked it, who knows where they'd send him next.

Mostly the her words were just complaints about Alistair anyway. He joked too much, they bickered over everything and he wanted to rule the country with her instead of just letting her do everything like she was comfortable with. He was actually proving to be capable from what she was saying, and Loghain was sure it was irritating her to no end. After all, she'd enjoyed Cailan's running off all the time in order to do things her way. He'd never cared if she was sneaking about behind his back to rule and be the actual one in charge. Apparently his new son-in-law, while seemingly much more stupid at first glance, wasn't anywhere as willing to roll over.

The second letter of course was orders from his superiors. It was nothing he hadn't already been told. Work well with the others, stay out of trouble, and what his duties exactly entailed.

Those two he could have expected, and somewhat had. The last three are what had confused him at first.

All of them were letters from Commander Solona Amell.

They'd been dated a week apart from one another, and the first was mostly polite inquiries about his trip and asking him if he was settling in, along with a promise that she would keep him informed about home as long as he'd want. The other two told about progress in Denerim, how the rebuilding was going and how the citizens were. It wasn't the vague politics of the court that Anora had described, but oddly sweet and personal little things.

'The children were out playing today,' one had said. 'One of them bumped into me while I was on my way to secure a sale of more granite for the walls. She actually hugged me around the waist and begged me to cast a few spells. I don't think I could have made her more popular amongst her little friends if I'd tried.'

She didn't usually talk about anything more important to that, and yet he enjoyed it. Every week there was another letter, and while some of them had official Warden business, the thought alone of the Architect had made his skin crawl and he was glad she'd seen the wisdom of killing such a creature, it was usually just little things that had no real baring on anything except the general peace that was coming back to their country.

Anora kept him up to date about the way the country was run, but Amell seemed to want him to know that the people were still happy. Honestly, as odd as it was to admit, he was much more pleased with the second. He loved his daughter dearly, and she was a politician to the heart, but she had little connection to the people. He couldn't blame her. He'd raised her to think with a critical mind, as he'd developed over the years, but his way thinking had not led to good things in the end. She saw numbers instead of people and he was happy there was Alistair and Amell there to balance out such thinking. Ferelden needed a sharp mind, but its leaders could not forget the people like he had.

At first, he'd only written back to the mage to be polite. He hadn't wanted the commander to think he was rude or didn't appreciate her efforts, though there wasn't much for him to write about. Often it was just describing the city he was in and how much he didn't like it. Too much sun, too colorful and the people spent money on those stupid looking masks. He couldn't imagine she looked forward to his constant complaining, but she wrote more often than anyone else he had contact with, even Anora. Letters from his daughter were infrequent over the months, usually only when something important was happening.

As was how it should be. She had a country to run and he didn't want her worrying about him as if he were some fool who couldn't take care of himself.
Now... he enjoyed it. As he became more comfortable with his role with the Wardens, his letters became more casual. He told the commander of the training, or the other recruits. Sometimes he even bothered to mention small, personal things like she did. A walk he took, or a little lake he'd found and had lunch by. His letters became more... personal.

'I'll never get used to the building here,' he'd confessed in a recent letter. 'They're so different in every way from home. The fact that the bricks are all evenly made, a bright red compared to the stones we use back home. It's not even bad. Just strange. So much effort must go into making those homes, and I often wonder at that. Half the people here wear masks and put on airs, yet the other half seem so hard working and civil. To make those bricks must take so much time and effort, yet I'd thought them nothing but snobs before I'd come here.

'I certainly can't say I'm comfortable here, but it's strange to know there are people here that have no part in this affair they call the Game. Even then, I can still get away when it becomes too obvious where I am stuck. When I get far enough away from the city, I can sit in the grass and close my eyes. For a brief moment, all I hear is the wind blowing and the sounds of animals or nature. It's like being home again, for just a second.'

He'd almost tossed it away the second he'd finished writing it, and yet he'd sent it anyway. It was all foolish nonsense, but it felt safe to say things to her. They'd been speaking by letter for eight or nine months now, and that young woman had his respect. He could at least be truthful with her.

Her response had probably been too kind to him. He didn't think he deserved it.

'It's always hard to be away from home, Loghain,' she'd written back. 'There are times when I miss the Circle terribly. The smell of the books, the quiet of the library and the absolute mess of the practice rooms because of apprentices and their half controlled spells. To me, it will always be home. Denerim is nice to visit and Amaranthine is beautiful, but I sometimes miss the days when the world was a little smaller, a little more personal. I certainly understand what it's like to look around yourself and see things you don't expect and want it to be different.

'I think you are doing well though. I've been told nothing but good things about you from scouts from Orlais and you've been given much praise. I don't think anyone would blame you for lashing out, now especially. You've taken all of this in stride, even when you didn't want to.

'I've never been prouder of a friend than I am of you.'

Being called her friend had been a little strange for him. He didn't know when that had happened. They'd been enemies once, allies reluctantly and eventually comrades who could trust one another. Just when had they become friends?

He could only blame the letters. There was nothing else that could have brought that about. These simple parchments had allowed him to lower his defenses somewhat, become less tense in a country he despised. Amell had given him simple things, but things she somehow knew he needed. Perhaps he'd let go of himself more than he'd intended to in his letters but what was done was done.

Maybe by some odd turn of events he had gained a friend, even as unlikely as she had been.

It could only be why when he sent his own letter back to her, he did something he'd never done before. He actually asked her about herself. After all, she had listened to his complaints and then his doubts. Surely he could offer the same if she needed it.

'I imagine things can't always be easy there for you. If it's not too forward, how have you been? You always speak about the citizens, but never yourself. How are you handling your duties? Perhaps you could share some of your troubles with me, if you wish to.'

He didn't receive a letter back for three weeks.

At first he was sure she'd been offended. Had she seen it as an implication that she couldn't handle her duties? It was her own life. Perhaps she hadn't wanted him to butt in. She was an adult on her own, and like Anora, did not need him trying to dictate her life.

Not that he'd meant to imply any of that, but he knew from personal experience just how easily offended women could be.

When he finally received word, it wasn't what he'd been expecting.

'First off, I'm sorry for the late reply. That was rude. I wish I could blame it on something, like distracting darkspawn or something of the like. Truth be told, I feel embarrassed now about this. It's just that I wasn't sure how to write this, and every time I tried it just wouldn't come out right. I must have abandoned this letter about a dozen times before getting back to it. It's just touching that you would ask, but at the same time I don't want to worry you. You have enough troubles without adding mine, but you asked. I guess it would be rude not to respond.

'The command itself hasn't been hard. I think I've grown into it. I've had people come and go. Anders and Justice are gone, though I don't know where to. Sigrun has also left, though that I know where. I tried to convince her to stay, but she's insisted it's time to go back to the Stone. That was a month ago. I don't know what to do about that. I considered a funeral, but it seems tacky. Oghren has suggested just drinking for her, but I think he'd drink to her name one way or the other.

'It's easier than when I took over though. I've begun to cope. You were right, there are many ways of dealing with leadership, and I think I've found mine. Life goes on, and we receive more soldiers by the day, hoping for more. The land is prospering and the peasants are no longer left wanting for food or safety, so I feel like I've done my job as Arlessa.

'Harder is the court. It seems I've kept the Banns in Amaranthine happy, but I don't like leaving for Denerim. It's easier to go out on a journey and find fifty bandits that want my head for bragging rights than to go there. It's very cold. I feel as if I'm never welcome. The king I can understand. His Majesty never truly forgave me for my choice concerning you. He is civil, but his sweetness towards me is gone. I know now our friendship is dead, and because of it I'm not in favor at the court. I hear the whispers about me, and they're not easy to ignore.

'Oddly enough, Queen Anora seems to help a bit. I wouldn't say we're friends, but she is kind to me. She's begun to invite me to tea when I visit, which makes my duties a bit easier. I think she only asks me to talk about you though. She's always asking what we write about so much to each other. I'm not sure if it's a good or bad sign she knows we even write at all, considering I never told you. I can only assume you did, or that she has spies that my scouts can't find. I suppose it shows she knows what she's doing at the very least.

'I don't feel welcome there, and when I am there it is only official pleasantries. The king has little time for me and I've long since learned not to press. He is ruler and I am simply one of his subjects now, to take his orders when he gives them and to help the country where I can. The queen is more polite, but I know it's because it's more because of decorum than anything else. You are alive and she is grateful, but my position for her is the same as it is for her husband.

'Ferelden is my home, and I love serving it. It's been my place all my life, to serve. My life as a mage, as a Warden, and now as standing nobility are all just roles I wear. I enjoy helping, but I miss something more personal along the way. I actually almost find myself wishing for the times we were in the Blight. As much horror as there was around us, I still had him. He was still my friend. Now he is king, and I know in my heart it's wisest to stay away and let him be that without my interference.

'I will never regret the day I chose to spare you. That's why I found this letter so hard to write, but I didn't want you to think I blamed you. There were too many parchments thrown away because it came out wrong. My choices are my own, and I made them for the good of my kingdom. I think I did what was best and I will live with it knowing that. Still, one can not help but sometimes miss what one used to have.

'In any case, thank you for asking me. It felt both nerve wracking to write this, but oddly releasing as well. It was good to get it off my chest in the end.'

He was glad to know he hadn't offended her, but it actually hadn't been easing to him to read it. Her words felt a little too close to home for him. The things she'd written about were a bit too familiar to him, things he had once felt himself.

There was patriotism in the letter, a real belief she was doing the right thing. He'd known that about her for a long time, but there was a tinge of regret in her words now. It was a sensation he was familiar with, one he wished he wasn't.

He himself had done many things for his country, many of them he did not regret. Some of them he did. He'd never wanted to let Rowan go, not really. It had been for the greater good. Neither of them could have afforded to be selfish. She'd gone off to become queen and he himself had met a beautiful and sweet woman with hair the color of golden wheat and blue eyes so deep they'd reminded him of gemstones. He'd fallen in love all over again and he allowed himself to be happy, but there was always a touch of regret.

Perhaps that's why he'd done everything he could to be so good to her when he was at home. Nothing was too expensive to buy for her, nothing too fine for her tastes, and he'd done his best to be the family man he should be. He began to think of her more than Rowan, and he considered it a success, even as he wondered what could have been.

A man was shaped by his experiences though, and he knew somehow he would not have rushed into a marriage so quickly if he hadn't been trying to convince himself he had to move on. As he read the letter it was like seeing words he himself might have written, if he'd had someone safe to confess to. He'd never dared speak to Rowan or Maric about his misgivings but if he had, he was sure it would have looked like this. There was no denying he had drifted apart from the both of them as time had gone on, and all three knew why. It had been polite not to talk about it, but that had not stopped him from feeling it.

Amell was devoting herself entirely to Ferelden, to the people and to her king and queen, but he could tell it was hurting her. It drew at him at the almost mimicry of the situation. He'd worn the burden of being the third wheel while still doing his best to serve and now she had the same sad fate.

He couldn't offer any advice on the subject more than just general tidbits that she should let herself focus on her work and find joy in that. It wasn't right to outright tell her to forget Alistair, and somehow suggesting she find herself a husband seemed rude. Not only for the matter that mages were not allowed to legally marry. Even if she had been able to, it seemed like advice a father would have given and he certainly wasn't that. He also dared not to reveal his personal experiences and tell her he knew himself in time it would hurt much less. He'd never spoken of that tender time with Rowan and he certainly wasn't going to put it to paper to risk anyone reading.

He wondered idly how deep this cut had to run for her. Clearly she cared about Alistair. When he'd been tracking them, his scouts had told them the two were constantly close, talking merrily and playing around. He'd even once gotten a detailed report how they'd spent their march laughing and shoving one another while traveling down the road and all but ignoring their other companions.

He'd thought them idiotic children playing at war who couldn't possibly understand the dangers this country faces. Now he wondered if they'd simply been two people, determined to find happiness in one another in the bleakest of times.

"Does she love him?" he'd asked himself countless times, long after the exchange of letters had moved on to another subject. She had been the one to suggest Alistair and Anora marry, but that wasn't a clue to the answer. He was certainly proof of that.

It hadn't seemed like any of his business, so he'd let it go. The last thing he could do was ask. Luckily it was an easy enough conversation to ignore, since they so rarely discussed the royal couple anyway. It was easy enough to begin asking about things like how her keep was coming back together and if she would be traveling back to the Circle any time soon for visits. It was practically idle chit chat at this point.

Then an invitation arrived, nearly a year later.

'Dear Loghain,

As always, I hope this letter finds you well. I've written to inform you of an upcoming celebration at Denerim. As of course you know, the second anniversary of the slaying of the archdemon is approaching. Last year things were still so busy with restoration and clearing out the last remaining darkspawn, there wasn't any official celebration. It seems this year, Queen Anora wishes to make up for that. There's plenty to celebrate, I suppose. Her wedding anniversary is so short after, along with the date that was the crowning of His Majesty. A lot to be happy about, I think.

'She's declared that there be a festival along with parties at the palace. I don't know all the exact details, but it's been pressed to me I'm expected to make several appearances. Apparently the whole thing is supposed to last two weeks, and I've been asked to be there for the entirety of it, along with a guest I've been informed I'm allowed to bring with me to the balls and feasts.

'I've decided to ask you. Inside is all the information about what is going to be happening. Honestly, I haven't looked through all of it myself, but I have a feeling there will be plenty of expensive food and speech making, neither of which I'm looking forward to. I could use a friend, so I hope you'll be able to tear yourself away from Orlais for a short time. I would appreciate the company and I'm sure you would not mind the break.

'Please let me know the moment you decide. If you decide not to come, I'll just have to find someone else, but I do sincerely hope that your answer is yes.

Sincerely,

Solona Amell

P.S. Do me a small favor? If you do come, please let Her Majesty know as well. I'm sure she'd be pleased to hear about it.'

True to what she'd said in the letter, there was plenty in the envelope that described what would be happening. Everything from small intimate dinner parties, balls, festival activities that could last days and even firework displays were outlined in an official announcement baring the royal crest. Anora had told him the treasury was more than healthy again, but clearly more so than she'd informed him if she could spend this kind of money without fear.

Well, the ending of a Blight was quite a feat. Having a party to enjoy the good fortune would certainly be good for morale. Ferelden was proving it had recovered very nicely from the war, and he could see that in every word of the announcements he was holding.

He was a little surprised that he'd been asked to go as her guest though. Why would she pick him out of anyone she knew? Surely there was someone who would be better suited. While he'd been there at the end of the Blight, he certainly had not ended it himself and he was sure there were still plenty of men and women who had no love for him.

Maybe the invitation was out of pity. A way to get him out of this country for a while. She had not seemed happy with the idea of him leaving a year and a half ago, and when she'd wished him goodbye she had barely been able to look at him. Considering he'd almost sliced her throat open the night before, he'd assumed she was angry at him at the time, but perhaps it had been anger at herself for being unable to save him from an unwanted post.

Whatever reason, he felt grateful for it. Time away from Orlais could never be a bad thing. It would be nice to get away from the masks everyone wore, the finery he could not stand, and just go home to relax a little.

By the next day, he'd already written both his daughter and friend about his plans to come home for the festival. His leave time secured and his pack filled with what he needed for the journey, he set off only a day after the letters had, eager to see his sweet Ferelden again.

End of Chapter 1

First chapter to get us started. Considering the first story was all from Solona's point of view, I decided to make Loghain the focus this chapter. I liked the idea of the letters back and forth in order to keep them in communication because I imagined Anora would have been writing to him anyway. Even though he was stripped of his title and power, and was sent all the way to a foreign country to keep him from getting involved, I don't see the queen actually giving a damn. She'd probably still be perfectly happy to let him give her suggestions and ideas on how to rule, but Loghain seems to follow orders well enough he'd know not to bother.

She's probably not the kind of woman to write about innate things like happy children, the animals coming back, or anything like that though. Solona luckily knows these are the things Loghain would have liked to hear about, so she was happy to fill him in. Of course the fact the little mage wanted to keep in contact with him anyway helped. She's no doubt gotten much more comfortable talking to him after a year and a half of letters to boot.

In any case, please review if you would be so kind. There aren't many Loghain fics out there, so I'd love some feedback. I really want to do him justice and opinions on his character and the storyline would help a ton. I appreciate it.