Loghain was sitting alone on the seashore, staring at the iridescent gleam of the moonlight on the dark rippling waters. He had done this every single night since they had camped there, trapped between the sea and the Brecilian Forest, waiting for Maric to recover after the taking of Gwaren.
Leave me alone whatever you want from me!... I'll never be your woman!
The young man's ice-colored eyes filled with tears as Rowan's words kept resounding in his ears, tormenting his brain, and, above all, tearing at his already broken heart. But the memory of her angry gaze was the thing that hurt the most, the disgusted look she gave him.
He decided to leave at dawn, feeling he could no longer stand the situation.
But Maric had stopped him, and Rowan had implored him to stay... for the sake of Ferelden.
Loghain had foolishly hoped that when he found the courage to confess his feelings, she would simply have fallen into his arms, his heart sure that she also felt the same because they were one, they understood each other without a word. The two of them were a stunning pair in battle; just a subtle nod of the head, a quick look, and each knew what the other was thinking. Loghain was sure that the gorgeous girl, with whom he shared the last several years of his life, with whom had fought so many battles and enjoyed the miraculous victory in Gwaren, was meant to be his.
But now he was straining to accept the fact that his instincts ruthlessly deceived him. He bent down to look at his reflection in the liquid mirror of the water, illuminated by the full moon. He saw a rather handsome young man with big intense eyes and rather virile features. He stroked his long black hair. It was a bit cottony because of the sea salt, but it wasn't the greasy, stinking and revolting bloody mess that most of the men who joined the Rebellion wore with pride. He always paid attention to personal cleanliness, as far as was possible in the situation in which they were living, and he had caught many lustful glances thrown at him by the few women who joined the rebellion, invitations to which he never responded. Even when his emotions got the better of him, he always fought them. Besides, he had never been interested in one-night stands or even sex for its own sake, and in this he was pretty much like his father, a man who had persisted throughout all his life in regarding women as sentient beings.
Loghain spent all his early youth on the run from the Orlesians, and he never had the chance to meet a girl of his age to court, or to fall in love with. He often heard his father's men talking about the whores they attended, or even about having sex with animals as acts of desperation, and he always felt disgusted.
He grew up with the belief to be better than most men, and that's why he had always been so lonely and silent... or surly, as many called him.
But he didn't care, he never did.
And then he met Rowan.
He was so sure she was the gift that destiny had been keeping aside for him, and suddenly everything had become clear. His father kept always repeating that the Maker was still watching over humanity, despite what the Chantry said, but He rewarded only men worthy of His attention. Loghain had pointed out to him that the Maker had taken away his wife at a young age, that they had lost their homes and lands by the hands of the Orlesians, and that they were living as fugitives.
Gareth had looked deeply into his boy's eyes, and after a long silence had told him that the Maker, at times, chooses some valiant men which he considers worthy, and takes them everything away because He needs them for the greater good. All they can do then is accept His will and be at His service.
But he also said that the Maker was a thankful being and would have rewarded such men, in one way or another. That night, Gareth had told his son he was quite sure that he was his reward, and for the first time in his adult life Loghain had felt tears rolling on his cheeks.
During the last years,Loghain couldn't help but keep hoping to be deemed worthy of Rowan's love, until the night before when the stunning woman in red had demolished every hint of hope in his heart. He felt he deserved some happiness after having sacrificed his entire early youth for the sake of Ferelden, but he was sitting alone again on the shore, tired and discouraged, wishing he had had the courage to leave that morning.
A sudden desire to abandon himself to the blessing of sleep assailed him. He longed to get lost in one of his dreams for the umpteenth time.
Dreams had always been his shelter, as if a little corner of the Fade was created for him to experience what he was lacking in earthly life. Only the night before he had fallen asleep on the sand to enter his secret garden, where Rowan soon joined him, running to him with wishful, adoring eyes. She was crying and told him "I love you" so many times he couldn't recall how many. He held her tightly in his arms and kissed her with a burning passion, to which she responded with the same eagerness. Her red gown fell to the ground, unveiling her perfect body, he laid her gently on the scented grass where they loved each other with total devotion, lulled by the sound of the waves crashing on the shores.
He had woken up in the throes of passion to the throbbing of his groin. Then, as always happened after the brief solace given by the intense pleasure, he had fallen into a profound desolation, each time feeling more desperate and lonely than the last. He wished he could stop dwelling in dreams, but the harsh reality was forcing him to continue, for the sake of Ferelden.
He wiped tears away with his sleeve and turned on his heels to reach the small grassy clearing beyond, and his heart started dancing in his throat when he distinguished among the pine trees a familiar and beloved silhouette. The woman that haunted his dreams but he couldn't do without was there, walking toward him with a firm step and unreadable gaze embedded in her blank face, and he could do nothing but stare at her, jerked between terror and hope.
She stopped before him and held out a hand to him. "I wanted to thank you for not having left this morning. I'm so grateful that you're still with us after... after what I..." Her eyes traitorously filled with tears against her will. It was hopeless.
Loghain was standing there before her eyes, looking frightened and hanging on her every word, but also hopeful, and entirely at her mercy.
Blight! That man had feelings... Before breaking his heart Rowan was almost convinced he had none, being that he always so cold and rigidly self-controlled. He spoke so little, and when he did his voice very seldom betrayed the slightest emotion, apart from his anger against the Orlesians.
Rowan took his hand and laid it gently against her cheek, that his fingers now stroked, wavering, as if afraid it was a dream that could vanish at any moment.
"I'm not Maric..." he whispered, and suddenly withdrew his hand.
Rowan had spent hours trying to convince herself that she could never betray Maric with someone else like he did to her with that deceitful elf. But Loghain was not that elf, and above all he wasn't someone else.
"I don't want Maric," she whispered, realizing that she was telling the truth.
"This in not exactly what you told me last night!" Loghain's voice carried a touch of bitterness.
Rowan snorted, "I have been a fool. I was angry with myself because I felt attracted to you!"
Loghain looked at her with a softened gaze. "That's not enough for me..." he muttered in a trembling voice.
A feminine yet calloused hand caressed his tear-streaked cheek. "I want you Loghain. I love you!"
He lost himself into her wonderful gray eyes, looking at him with sincerity and wholeheartedness. He pulled her to him and kissed her with such passion that she fell into his arms, breathless.
"I love you Rowan. I always have!" he whispered hiding his face in the voluminous mass of her fragrant curls, rumpling handfuls of it as if the contact helped him to realize it wasn't a dream. He had so often intensely desired to drown in the wonderful brown cascade of soft ringlets that he felt he could linger there forever.
"I love you," she whispered in his ear sending shivers down his spine. Then she descended the edge of his manly jaw to attack again his mouth with a hungry kiss to which he responded with the same urgency.
Loghain overindulged in savoring the taste of her lips, and then searched again for her tongue, which he found willing to start another dance with his. Unlike in the dreams, Rowan was wearing a pair of leather trousers and a blouse, under which his longing hands found their way to her breasts.
At his touch, Rowan utteredamoan that his mouth silenced. In the throes of a scorching heat inflaming her lower belly, she raised her arms inviting him to slide her blouse off, and so he did, hectically, and then he started fighting with the buttons that held up her pants.
He felt a bit clumsy and he couldn't help but chuckle, heartily, because such things don't occur in dreams.
Rowan's brawny but curvaceous body was now before his very eyes, and it was more breathtaking than he had ever dared imagine in his wildest dreams.
Her greedy hands got hastily rid of his clothes, craving for the contact with his skin. His body was tough as rock, strong and slender, with a light dusting of chest hair, and quivering with desire. Their lips joined once again while their skin-to-skin contact became overwhelming. Rowan lost her sense of balance and fell into his arms, but he fell to his knees, dragging her down with him. They lost themselves in that kiss until realized they lay on the scented grass, breathless and panting, without knowing how it happened.
Loghain began to kiss every corner of her tempting body, which writhed under the touch of his scorching lips and the strain of his tongue, making her rave with desire.
The emotional involvement in her pleasure almost brought him on the verge of release, so he took a couple of deep breaths before crawling slowly over her body, to lay gently upon her.
She threw him an innocent, yet slightly mischievous hint of a smile. "It's my first time, so please be gentle and bear with me if I'm not good at it," she told him with a concerned look.
Her first time? How was it humanly possible that Maric never picked the wonderful flower that fate had put along his lucky path? Loghain was suddenly seized by a pang of terror since he realized he was probably dreaming again.
Rowan understood his thoughts perfectly. "Maric keeps seeing me as his best friend…I sometimes feel he thinks of me as his sister." She had never admitted it not even to herself, but while uttering the words to acknowledge him, she realized she didn't care.
"I want you Loghain. I want you to be my first and only," she confessed with a quavering voice while her legs embraced him as if to uphold what she was saying.
That night they loved each other passionately, devotedly, almost rabidly, they loved each other as if afraid they would wake up at any moment.
"Rowan!" He shouted as he reached his peak, overflowing like a river in flood, overwhelmed by the most intense pleasure he ever experienced in life.
"Rowan!" Loghain uttered a second doleful cry as he realized he was laying on the ground, his hands clutching patches of grass.
-o-o-o-
Rowan woke up crying his name, but she soon realized that she was sleeping alone inside her tent.
Another dream! But this time it was so lifelike...
She rubbed a hand over her eyes, as if to ward off the memory of something that made her feel uncomfortable, if not guilty.
It was dawn, she stepped out from the tent and saw a feminine figure with a shock of disheveled blond curls step stealthily out of Maric's tent.
She was confident one day her betrothed would come to her with his tail between his legs, he would ask for her forgiveness. That day she would still be a virgin, and this would enhance his feelings of guilt.
She had just understood she loved Loghain with all her heart while Maric was just satisfying his appetites? That was not the point!
I am better than him! She kept repeating as if trying to convince herself.
-o-o-o-
The sun was rising over the sea, spending itself in the most stunning show that nature could offer to a man's eyes. Loghain contemplated the glimmering waters painted with a myriad of shimmering colors, trying to find the strength and the will to stand on his feet.
At last, he rose and headed for the camp, ready to face another tough day of the rebellion against the Orlesians, but above all another day spent nurturing his rigid self-control, struggling against his feelings.
For the sake of Ferelden.